.      '  -  !  .  ....       . 

1  :  '  •.!:•,•...       .     .  •          •.  :  •  : 


i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


THE 
OLD   MAIDS'  CLUB 


THE 

OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB 


BY 

I.     ZANGWIL.I, 

AUTHOR  OF 
•THE  BACHELOR'S  CLUB,"  "THE  BIG  BOW  MYSTERY,"  ETC. 


WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS 


F.  H.  TOWNSEND 


NEW  YORK 

LOVELL,   COR  YELL  &  COMPANY 
310-318  SIXTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 

BY 

UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY. 

[All  rights  reserved.} 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  READER MY  BOOK. 

MY  BOOK.  ....    THE  READER. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  THE  ALGEBRA  OF  LOVE,  PLUS  OTHER  THINGS  .  .      9 

II.  THE  HONORARY  TRIER 19 

III.  THE  MAN  IN  THE  IRONED  MASK         .        .        .  .    27 

IV.  THE  CLUB  GETS  ADVERTISED 43 

V.  THE  PRINCESS  OF  PORTMAN  SQUARE  .        .        .  -50 

VI.  THE  GRAMMAR.  OF  LOVE 86 

VII.  THE  IDYL  OF  TREPOLPEN      ....  -98 

VIII.  MORE  ABOUT  THE  CHERUB 125 

IX.    OF    WIVES    AND   THEIR    MISTRESSES         .  .  .133 

X.  THE  GOOD  YOUNG  MEN  WHO  LIVED      .        .        .      147 

XI.  ADVENTURES  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  POLE       .        .        .161 

XII.  THE  ARITHMETIC  AND  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  LOVE         .       188 

XIII.  THE  ENGLISH  SHAKESPEARE 198 

XIV.  THE  OLD  YOUNG  WOMAN  AND  THE  NEW      .        .      224 
XV.  THE  MYSTERIOUS  ADVERTISER 244 

XVI.  THE  CLUB  BECOMES  POPULAR 264 

XVII.  A  MUSICAL  BAR 277 

XVIII.  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GHOUL     .  291 

XIX.  LA  FEMME  INCOMPRISE         .  ...  308 

XX.  THE  INAUGURAL  SOIREE    .  ....      319 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'   CLUB. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ALGEBRA  OF  LOVE, 

PLUS  OTHER 

THINGS. 

HE  Old  Maids'  Club  was  founded  by  Lillie 
Dulcimer  in  her  sweet  seventeenth  year.  She  had  always 
been  precocious  and  could  analyze  her  own  sensations 
before  she  could  spell.  In  fact  she  divided  her  time  be- 
tween making  sensations  and  analyzing  them.  She  never 
spoke  Early  English — the  dialect  which  so  enraged  Dr. 
Johnson — but,  like  John  Stuart  Mill,  she  wrote  a  classical 
style  from  childhood.  She  kept  a  diary,  not  necessarily 
as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith,  but  for  publication  only.  It 
was  labelled  "  Lillie  Day  by  Day,"  and  was  posted  up  from 
her  fifth  year.  Judging  by  the  analogy  of  the  rest,  one 
might  construct  the  entry  for  the  first  day  of  her  life.  If 
she  had  been  able  to  record  her  thoughts,  her  diary  would 
probably  have  begun  thus  : — 

"  Sunday,  September  jrd :  My  birthday.     Wept  at  the 
sight  of  the  world  in  which  I  was  to  be  so  miserable.     The 


jo  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

atmosphere  was  so  stuffy — not  at  all  pleasing  to  the  aesthetic 
faculties.  Expected  a  more  refined  reception.  A  lady, 
to  whom  I  had  never  been  introduced,  fondled  me  and 
addressed  me  as  '  Petsie-tootsie-wootsie.'  It  appears 
that  she  is  my  mother,  but  this  hardly  justifies  her  in 
degrading  the  language  of  Milton  and  Shakespeare.  Later 
on  a  man  came  in  and  kissed  her.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  they  might  respect  my  presence ;  and,  if 
they  must  carry  on,  continue  to  do  so  out  of  my  sight  as 
before.  I  understood  later  that  I  must  call  the  stranger 
'  Poppy,'  and  that  I  was  not  to  resent  his  familiarities, 
as  he  was  very  much  attached  to  my  mother  by  Act  of 
Parliament.  Both  the  man  and  the  woman  seem  to  arro- 
gate to  themselves  a  certain  authority  over  me.  How 
strange  that  two  persons  you  have  never  seen  before  in 
your  life  should  claim  such  rights  of  interference  !  There 
must  be  something  rotten  in  the  constitution  of  Society. 
It  shall  be  one  of  my  life-tasks  to  discover  what  it  is.  I 
made  a  light  lunch  off  milk,  but  do  not  care  for  the  bever- 
age. The  day  passed  slowly.  I  was  dreadfully  bored  by 
the  conversation  in  the  bedroom — it  was  so  petty.  I  was 
glad  when  night  came.  O,  the  intolerable  ennui  of  an 
English  Sunday  !  I  divine  already  that  I  am  destined  to 
go  through  life  perpetually  craving  for  I  know  not  what, 
and  that  I  shan't  be  happy  till  I  get  it." 

Lillie  was  a  born  heroine,  being  young  and  beautiful 
from  her  birth.  In  her  fourth  year  she  conceived  a  Pla- 
tonic affection  for  the  boy  who  brought  the  telegrams. 
His  manners  had  such  repose.  This  was  followed  by  a 
hopeless  passion  for  a  French  cavalry  officer  with  spurs. 
Every  one  feared  she  would  grow  up  to  be  a  suicide  or  a 
poetess  ;  for  her  earliest  nursery  rhyme  was  an  impromptu 
distich  discovered  by  the  nursery-maid,  running  : 

Woonded  i  crawl  out  from  the  battel, 
Life  is  as  hollo  as  my  rattel. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  n 

And  her  twelfth  year  was  almost  entirely  devoted  to  liter- 
ary composition  of  a  hopeless  character,  so  far  as  pub- 
lishers were  concerned.  It  was  only  the  success  of 
"  Woman  as  a  Waste  Force,"  in  her  fourteenth  year,  that 
induced  them  to  compete  for  her  early  manuscripts  and 
to  give  the  world  the  celebrated  compilations,  "  Ibsen  for 
Infants,"  "  Browning  for  Babies,"  "  Carlyle  for  the  Cradle,'' 
"  Newman  for  the  Nursery,"  "  Leopardi  for  the  Little  Ones,'' 
and  "The  Schoolgirl's  Schopenhauer,"  which,  together 
with  "  Tracts  for  the  Tots,"  make  up  the  main  productions 
of  her  First  Period.  After  the  loss  of  the  French  cavalry 
officer  she  remained  blasee  till  she  was  more  than  seven, 
when  her  second  grand  passion  took  her.  It  was  a  very 
grand  passion  indeed  this  time — and  it  lasted  a  full  week. 
These  things  did  not  matter  while  Lillie  had  not  yet  arrived 
at  years  of  indiscretion  ;  but  when  she  got  into  her  teens, 
her  father  began  to  look  about  for  a  husband  for  her.  He 
was  a  millionaire  and  had  always  kept  her  supplied  with 
every  luxury.  But  Lillie  did  not  care  for  her  father's  selec- 
tions, and  sent  them  all  away  with  fleas  in  their  ears  instead 
of  kind  words.  And  her  father  was  as  unhappy  as  his 
selections.  In  her  sixteenth  year  her  mother,  who  had 
been  ailing  for  sixteen  years,  breathed  her  last,  and  Lillie 
more  freely.  She  had  grown  quite  to  like  Mrs.  Dulcimer, 
and  it  prevented  her  having  her  own  way.  The  situation 
was  now  very  simple.  Mr.  Dulcimer  managed  his  immense 
affairs  and  Lillie  managed  Mr.  Dulcimer. 

He  made  one  last  effort  to  get  her  to  manage  another 
man.  He  discovered  a  young  nobleman  who  seemed  fond 
of  her  society  and  who  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  her  ac- 
cidentally at  the  Academy.  The  gunpowder  being  thus 
presumably  laid,  he  set  to  work  to  strike  the  match.  But 
the  explosion  was  not  such  as  he  expected.  Lillie  told 
him  that  no  man  was  further  from  her  thoughts  as  a  possible 
husband. 


I2  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

'•  But,  Lillie,"  pleaded  the  millionaire,  "  not  one  of  the 
objections  you  have  impressed  upon  me  applies  to  Lord 
Silverdale.  He  is  young,  rich,  handsome " 

'•  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  answered  Lillie,  "  I  know." 

'•  He  is  rich  and  cannot  be  after  your  money." 

'•  True." 

'"  He  has  a  title,  which  you  consider  an  advantage." 

"1  do." 

"  He  is  a  man  of  taste  and  culture." 

"He  is." 

'•  Well,  what  is  it  you  don't  like  ?  Doesn't  he  ride  or 
dance  well  ?  " 

'*  He  dances  like  an  angel  and  rides  like  the  devil." 

"  Well,  what  in  the  name  of  angels  or  devils  is  your  ob- 
jection then  ? " 

'•  Father,"  said  Lillie  very  solemnly,  "  he  is  all  you  claim, 

but ."  The  little  delicate  cheek  flushed  modestly. 

She  could  not  say  it. 

"  But "  said  the  millionaire  impatiently. 

Lillie  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  But "  said  the  millionaire  brutally. 

"  But  I  love  him  !  " 

"  You  what  ?  "  roared  the  millionaire. 

<:  Yes,  father,  do  not  be  angry  with  me.  I  love  him 
dearly.  Oh,  do  not  spurn  me  from  you,  but  I  love  him 
with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  I  shall  never  marry 
any  other  man  but  him."  The  poor  little  girl  burst  into 
a  paroxysm  of  weeping. 

"  Then  you  will  marry  him  ?  "  gasped  the  millionaire. 

"  No,  father,"  she  sobbed  solemnly,  "  that  is  an  illegiti- 
mate deduction  from  my  proposition.  He  is  the  one  man 
on  this  earth  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  marry." 

'•  You  are  mad  !  " 

'•  No,  father.  I  am  only  mathematical.  I  will  never 
marry  a  man  who  does  not  love  me.  And  don't  you 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  j-j 

see  that,  as  I  love  him,  the  odds  are  that  he  doesn't  love 
me?" 

"  But  he  tells  me  he  does  !  " 

"  What  is  his  bare  assertion — weighed  against  the  doc- 
trine of  probability  !  How  many  girls  do  you  suppose 
Silverdale  has  met  in  his  varied  career  ? " 

"  A  thousand,  I  dare  say." 

"  Ah,  that's  only  reckoning  English  Society  (and 
theatres).  And  then  he  has  seen  Society  (and  theatres) 
in  Paris,  Berlin,  Rome,  Boston,  a  hundred  places  !  If  we 
put  the  figure  at  three  thousand  it  will  be  moderate.  Here 
am  I,  a  single  girl " 

"  Who  oughtn't  to  remain  so,"  growled  the  million- 
aire. 

"  One  single  girl.  How  wildly  improbable  that  out  of 
three  thousand  girls,  Silverdale  should  just  fall  in  love  with 
me.  It  is  2999  to  i  against.  Then  there  is  the  prob- 
ability that  he  is  not  in  love  at  all — which  makes  the  odds 
5999  to  i.  The  problem  is  exactly  analogous  to  one' 
which  you  will  find  in  any  Algebra.  Out  of  a  sack  con- 
taining three  thousand  coins,  what  are  the  odds  that  a  man 
will  draw  the  one  marked  coin  ?  " 

"  The  comparison  of  yourself  to  a  marked  coin  is  correct 
enough,"  said  the  millionaire,  thinking  of  the  files  of  for- 
tune-hunters to  whom  he  had  given  the  sack.  "  Otherwise 
you  are  talking  nonsense." 

"  Then  Pascal,  Laplace,  Lagrange,  De  Moivre  talked 
nonsense,"  said  Lillie  hotly  ;  "  but  I  have  not  finished.  We 
must  also  leave  open  the  possibility  that  the  man  will  not 
be  tempted  to  draw  out  any  coin  whatsoever.  The  odds 
against  the  marked  coin  being  drawn  out  are  thus  5999 
to  i.  The  odds  against  Silverdale  returning  my  affection 
are  6000  to  i.  As  Butler  rightly  points  out,  prob- 
ability is  the  only  guide  to  conduct,  which  is,  we  know 
from  Matthew  Arnold,  three-fourths  of  life.  Am  I  to  risk 


I4  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

ruining  three-fourths  of  my  life,  in  defiance  of  the  unerring 
dogmas  of  the  Doctrine  of  Chances  ?  No,  father,  do  not 
exact  this  sacrifice  from  me.  Ask  me  anything  you  please, 
and  I  will  grant  it — oh  !  so  gladly — but  do  not,  oh,  do  not 
ask  me  to  marry  the  man  I  love  !  " 

The  millionaire  stroked  her  hair,  and  soothed  her  in 
piteous  silence.  He  had  made  his  pile  in  pig-iron,  and  had 
not  science  enough  to  grapple  with  the  situation. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  because 
you  love  a  man,  he  can't  love  you  ? " 

"  He  can.  But  in  all  human  probability  he  won't.  Sup- 
pose you  put  on  a  fur  waistcoat  and  went  out  into  the 
street,  determined  to  invite  to  dinner  the  first  man  in  a 
straw  hat,  and  supposing  he  replied  that  you  had  just  fore- 
stalled him,  as  he  had  gone  out  with  a  similar  intention  to 
look  for  the  first  man  in  a  fur  \^istcoat. — What  would 
you  say  ? " 

The  millionaire  hesitated.  "  Well,  I  shouldn't  like  to 
insult  the  man,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  You  see !  "  cried  Lillie  triumphantly. 

"  Well,  then,  dear,"  said  he,  after  much  pondering,  "  the 
only  thing  for  it  is  to  marry  a  man  you  don't  love." 

"  Father  !  "  said  Lillie  in  terrible  tones. 

The  millionaire  hung  his  head  shamefacedly  at  the  out- 
rage his  suggestion  had  put  upon  his  daughter. 

"  Forgive  me,  Lillie,"  he  said  ;  "  I  shall  never  interfere 
again  in  your  matrimonial  concerns." 

So  Lillie  wiped  her  eyes  and  founded  the  Old  Maids' 
Club. 

She  said  it  was  one  of  her  matrimonial  concerns,  and  so 
her  father  could  not  break  his  word,  though  an  entire  suite 
of  rooms  in  his  own  Kensington  mansion  was  set  aside  for 
the  rooms  of  the  Club.  Not  that  he  desired  to  interfere. 
Having  read  "  The  Bachelors'  Club,"  he  thought  it  was 
the  surest  way  of  getting  her  married. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  15 

The  object  of  the  Club  was  defined  by  the  foundress  as 
"  the  depolarization  of  the  term  '  Old  Maid ' ;  in  other 
words,  the  dissipation  of  all  those  disagreeable  associations 
which  have  gradually  and  most  unjustly  clustered  about 
it ;  the  restoration  of  the  homely  Saxon  phrase  to  its  pristine 
purity,  and  the  elevation  of  the  enviable  class  denoted  by 
it  to  their  due  pedestal  of  privilege  and  homage." 

The  conditions  of  membership,  drawn  up  by  Lillie,  were  : 

i.  Every  candidate  must  be  under  twenty-five.  2.  Every  can- 
didate must  be  beautiful  and  wealthy,  and  undertake  to  continue  so. 
3.  Every  candidate  must  have  refused  at  least  one  advantageous  offer 
of  marriage. 

The  rationale  of  these  rules  was  obvious.  Disappointed, 
soured  failures  were  not  wanted.  There  was  no  virtue  in 
being  an  ;'  Old  Maid  "  when  you  had  passed  twenty-five. 
Such  creatures  are  merely  old  maids — Old  Maids  (with 
capitals)  were  required  to  be  in  the  flower  of  youth  and 
the  flush  of  beauty.  Their  anti-matrimonial  motives  must 
be  above  suspicion.  They  must  despise  and  reject  the 
married  state,  though  they  would  be  welcomed  therein 
with  open  arms. 

Only  thus  would  people's  minds  be  disabused  of  the 
old-fashioned  notions  about  old  maids. 

The  Old  Maids  were  expected  to  obey  an  elaborate  array 
of  by-laws,  and  respect  a  series  of  recommendations. 

According  to  the  by-laws  they  were  required  : 

i.  To  regard  all  men  as  brothers.  2.  Not  to  keep  cats,  lap-dogs, 
parrots,  pages,  or  other  domestic  pets.  3.  Not  to  have  less  than  one 
birthday  per  year.  4.  To  abjure  medicine,  art  classes,  and  Catholi- 
cism. 5.  Never  to  speak  to  a  Curate.  6.  Not  to  have  any  ideals  or 
to  take  part  in  Woman's  Rights  Movements,  Charity  Concerts,  or 
other  Platform  Demonstrations.  7.  Not  to  wear  caps,  curls,  or 
similar  articles  of  attire.  8.  Not  to  kiss  females. 

In  addition  to  these  there  were  the 


1 6  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

GENERAL  RECOMMENDATIONS  : 

Never  refuse  the  last  slice  of  bread,  etc.,  lest  you  be  accused 
of  dreading  celibacy.  Never  accept  bits  of  wedding  cake, 
lest  you  be  suspected  of  putting  them  under  your  pillow. 
Do  not  express  disapproval  by  a  sniff.  In  travelling, 
choose  smoking  carriages  ;  pack  your  umbrellas  and  par- 
asols inside  your  trunk.  Never  distribute  tracts.  Always 
fondle  children  and  show  marked  hostility  to  the  household 
cat.  Avoid  eccentricities.  Do  not  patronize  Dorothy 
Restaurants  or  the  establishments  of  the  Aerated  Bread 
Company.  Never  drink  cocoa-nibs.  In  dress  it  is  better 
to  avoid  Mittens,  Crossovers,  Fleecy  Shawls,  Elastic-side 
Boots,  White  Stockings,  Black  Silk  Bodies,  with  Pendent 
Gold  Chains,  and  Antique  White  Lace  Collars.  One- 
button  White  Kid  Gloves  are  also  inadvisable  for  after- 
noon concerts  ;  nor  should  any  glove  be  worn  with  ringers 
too  long  to  pick  up  change  at  booking-offices.  Parcels 
should  not  be  wrapped  in  whitey-brown  paper  and  not 
more  than  three  should  be  carried  at  once.  Watch  Pock- 
ets should  not  be  hung  over  the  bed,  sheets  and  mattresses 
should  be  left  to  the  servants  to  air,  and  rooms  should  be 
kept  in  an  untidy  condition. 

Refrain  from  manufacturing  jam,  household  remedies, 
gossip  or  gooseberry  wine.  Never  nurse  a  cold  or  a  rel- 
ative. It  is  advisable  not  to  have  a  married  sister,  as  she 
might  decease  and  the  temptation  to  marry  her  husband 
is  such  as  no  mere  human  being  ought  to  be  exposed  to. 
For  cognate  reasons  eschew  friendship  with  cripples  and 
hunchbacks  (especially  when  they  have  mastered  the  violin 
in  twelve  lessons),  men  of  no  moral  character,  drunkards 
who  wish  to  reform  themselves,  very  ugly  men,  and  hus- 
bands with  wives  in  lunatic  asylums.  Cultivate  rather  the 
acquaintance  of  handsome  young  men  (who  have  been 
duly  vaccinated),  for  this  species  is  too  conceited  to  be 
dangerous. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB.  ^ 

On  the  same  principle  were  the  rules  for  admitting 
visitors  : 

i.  No  unmarried  lady  admitted.  2.  No  married  gentlemen  ad- 
mitted. 

If  they  admitted  single  ladies  there  would  be  no  privilege 
in  being  a  member,  while  if  they  did  not  admit  single  gen- 
tlemen, they  might  be  taunted  with  being  afraid  that  they 
were  not  fireproof.  When  Lillie  had  worked  this  out  to 
her  satisfaction  she  was  greatly  chagrined  to  find  the  two 
rules  were  the  same  as  for  "  The  Bachelors'  Club."  To 
show  their  club  had  no  connection  with  the  brother  in- 
stitution, she  devised  a  series  of  counterblasts  to  their 
misogynic  maxims.  These  were  woven  on  all  the  anti- 
macassars ;  the  deadliest  were  : 

The  husband  is  the  only  creature  entirely  selfish.  He  is  a  low  or- 
ganism, consisting  mainly  of  a  digestive  apparatus  and  a  rude  mouth. 
The  lover  holds  the  cloak  ;  the  husband  drops  it.  Wedding  dresses 
are  webs.  Women  like  clinging  robes  ;  men  like  clinging  women. 
The  lover  will  always  help  the  beloved  to  be  helpless.  A  man  likes 
his  wife  to  be  just  clever  enough  to  comprehend  his  cleverness  and 
just  stupid  enough  to  admire  it.  Women  who  catch  husbands  rarely 
recover.  Marriage  is  a  lottery ;  every  wife  does  not  become  a  widow. 
Wrinkles  are  woman's  marriage  lines ;  but  when  she  gets  them  her 
husband  will  no  longer  be  bound. 

The  woman  who  believes  her  husband  loves  her,  is  capable  of  be- 
lieving that  she  loves  him.  A  good  man's  love  is  the  most  intoler- 
able of  boredoms.  A  man  often  marries  a  woman  because  thy 
have  the  same  tastes  and  prefer  himself  to  the  rest  of  creation.  If  a 
woman  could  know  what  her  lover  really  thought  of  her  she  would 
know  what  to  think  of  him.  Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  marriage 
law.  It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  marry  a  clever  woman.  Mar- 
riages are  made  in  heaven,  but  old  maids  go  there. 

Lillie  also  painted  a  cynical  picture  of  dubious  double- 
edged  incisiveness.  It  was  called  "  Latter-day  Love,"  and 
represented  the  ill  hap  of  Cupid,  neglected  and  super- 
fluous, his  quiver  full,  his  arrows  rusty,  shivering  with  the 

2 


i8 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 


cold,  amid  contented  couples  passing  him  by  with  never 
an  eye  for  the  lugubrious  legend,  "  Pity  the  Poor  Blind." 

The  picture  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  rooms  of  the 
Club.  When  Lillie  Dulcimer  had  hung  it  up,  she  looked 
round  upon  the  antimacassars  and  felt  a  proud  and  happy 
girl. 

The  Old  Maids'  Club  was  now  complete.  Nothing  was 
wanting  except  members. 


Latter-Day  Love. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  HONORARY    TRIER. 

LORD  SILVERDALE  was  the  first  visitor  to  the  Old  Maids' 
Club.  He  found  the  fair  President  throned  alone  among 
the  epigrammatic  antimacassars.  Lillie  received  him  with 
dignity  and  informed  him  that  he  stood  on  holy  ground. 
The  young  man  was  shocked  to  hear  of  the  change  in  her 
condition.  He,  himself,  had  lately  spent  his  time  in  pluck- 
ing up  courage  to  ask  her  to  change  it — and  now  he  had 
been  forestalled. 

"  But  you  must  come  in  and  see  us  often,"  said  Lillie. 
"  It  occurs  to  me  that  the  by-laws  admit  you." 

"  How  many  will  you  be  ?  "  murmured  Silverdale,  heart- 
broken. 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I  am  waiting  for  the  thing  to  get 
about.  I  have  been  in  communication  with  the  first  can- 
didate, and  expect  her  any  moment.  She  is  a  celebrated 
actress." 

"  And  who  elects  her  ?  " 

"  I,  of  course  !  "  said  Lillie,  with  an  imperial  flash  in 
her  passionate  brown  eyes.  She  was  a  brunette,  and  her 
face  sometimes  looked  like  a  handsome  thunder-cloud. 
"  I  am  the  President  and  the  Committee  and  the  Oldest 
Old  Maid.  Isn't  one  of  the  rules  that  candidates  shall 
not  believe  in  Women's  Rights  ?  None  of  the  members  will 
have  any  voice  whatever." 


20  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Well,  if  your  actress  is  a  comic  opera  star,  she  won't 
have  any  voice  whatever.' 

"  Lord  Silverdale,"  said  Lillie  sharply,  "  I  hate  puns. 
They  spoiled  the  Bachelors'  Club/' 

His  lordship,  who  was  the  greatest  punster  of  the  peers, 
and  the  peer  of  the  greatest  punsters,  muttered  savagely 
that  he  would  like  to  spoil  the  Old  Maids'  Club.  Lillie 
punned  herself  sometimes,  but  he  dared  not  tell  her  of  it. 

"  And  what  will  be  the  subscription  ?  "  he  said  aloud. 

"  There  will  be  none.     I  supply  the  premises." 

"  Ah,  that  will  never  do  !  Half  the  pleasure  of  belong- 
ing to  a  club  is  the  feeling  that  you  have  not  paid  your 
subscription.  And  how  about  grub  ?  " 

"  Grub  !  We  are  not  men.  We  do  not  fulfil  missions 
by  eating." 

"  Unjust  creature  !  Men  sometimes  fulfil  missions  by 
being  eaten." 

"  Well,  papa  will  supply  buns,  lemonade  and  ices. 
Turple  the  magnificent,  will  always  be  within  call  to  hand 
round  the  things." 

"  May  I  send  you  in  a  hundred-weight  of  chocolate 
creams  ? " 

"  Certainly.  Why  should  weddings  have  a  monopoly 
of  presents  ?  This  is  not  the  only  way  in  which  you  can 
be  of  service  to  me,  if  you  will." 

"  Only  discover  it  for  me,  my  dear  Miss  Dulcimer. 
W'here  there's  a  way  there's  a  will." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  you  to  act  as  Trier." 

"  Eh  !     I  beg  your  pardon  ? " 

"  Don't  apologize  ;  to  try  the  candidates  who  wish  to  be 
Old  Maids." 

"  Try  them !  No,  no  !  I'm  afraid  I  should  be  prejudiced 
against  bringing  them  in  innocent." 

"  Don't  be  silly.  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  could  not 
tell  so  well  as  you  whether  they  possessed  the  true  apos- 


THE  OLD  AfA/DS'  CLUB.  21 

tolic  spirit.  You  are  a  man — your  instinct  would  be  truer 
than  mine.  Whenever  a  new  candidate  applies,  I  want 
you  to  come  up  and  see  her." 

"  Really,  Miss  Dulcimer,  I — I  can't  tell  by  looking  at 
her ! " 

"  No,  but  you  can  by  her  looking  at  you." 

"  You  exaggerate  my  insight." 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  most  important  that  something  of 
the  kind  should  be  done.  By  the  rules,  all  the  Old  Maids 
must  be  young  and  beautiful.  And  it  requires  a  high 
degree  of  will  and  intelligence " 

"  To  be  both !  " 

"  For  such  to  give  themselves  body  and  sou!  to  the 
cause.  Every  Old  Maid  is  double-faced  till  she  has  been 
proved  single-hearted." 

"  And  must  I  talk  to  them  ? " 

"In  plain  English " 

"  It's  the  only  language  I  speak  plainly." 

"  Wait  till  I  finish,  boy  !  In  plain  English,  you  must 
flirt  with  them." 

"  Flirt  ?  "  said  Silverdale,  aghast.  "  What !  With  young 
and  beautiful  girls  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  is  hard,  Lord  Silverdale,  but  you  will  do  it  for 
my  sake  ! "  They  were  sitting  on  an  ottoman,  and  the 
lovely  face  which  looked  pleadingly  up  into  his  was  very 
near.  The  young  man  got  up  and  walked  up  and 
down. 

"  Hang  it  !  "  he  murmured  disconsolately.  "  Can't  you 
try  them  on  Turple  the  magnificent.  Or  why  not  get  a 
music-master  or  a  professor  of  painting?  " 

"  Music-masters  touch  the  wrong  chord,  and  professors 
of  painting  are  mostly  old  masters.  You  are  young  and 
polished  and  can  flirt  with  tact  and  taste." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  poor  young  peer,  making  a  wry 
face.  "  And  therefore  I'm  to  be  a  flirtation  machine." 


22  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  An  electric  battery  if  you  like.  I  don't  desire  to 
mince  my  words.  There's  no  gain  in  not  calling  a  spade 
a  spade." 

"  And  less  in  people  calling  a  battery  a  rake." 

"  Is  that  a  joke  ?  I  thought  you  clubmen  enjoyed 
being  called  rakes." 

"  That  is  all  most  of  us  do  enjoy.  Take  it  from  me 
that  the  last  thing  a  rake  does  is  to  sow  wild  oats." 

"  I  know  enough  of  agriculture  not  to  be  indebted  to 
you  for  the  information.  But  I  certainly  thought  you 
were  a  rake,"  said  the  little  girl,  looking  up  at  him  with 
limpid  brown  eyes. 

"You  flatter  me,"  he  said  with  a  mock  bow  ;  "you  are 
young  enough  to  know  better." 

"  But  you  have  seen  Society  (and  theatres)  in  a  dozen 
capitals  !  " 

"  I  have  been  behind  the  scenes  of  both,"  he  answered 
simply.  "That  is  the  thing  to  keep  a  man  steady." 

"  I  thought  it  turned  a  man's  head,"  she  said  musingly. 

"  It  does.  Only  one  begins  manhood  with  his  head 
screwed  the  wrong  way  on.  Homoeopathy  is  the  sole 
curative  principle  in  morals.  Excuse  this  sudden  dis- 
charge of  copy-book  mottoes.  I  sometimes  go  off  that 
way,  but  you  mustn't  take  me  for  a  Maxim  gun.  I  am 
not  such  a  bore,  I  hope." 

Lillie  flew  off  at  a  feminine  tangent. 

"  All  of  which  only  proves  the  wisdom  of  my  choice  in 
selecting  you." 

"  What !  To  pepper  them  with  pellets  of  platitude  ? " 
he  said,  dropping  despairingly  into  an  arm-chair. 

"  No.     With  eyeshot.     Take  care  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  ? " 

"You're  sitting  on  an  epigram." 

The  young  man  started  up  as  if  stung,  and  removed  the 
antimacassar,  without,  however,  seeing  the  point. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  23 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  inquiring  whether  you 
have  any  morals,"  said  Lillie. 

"  I  have  as  many  as  ^Esop.  The  strictest  investigation 
courted.  References  given  and  exchanged,"  said  the  peer 
lightly. 


'•  Take  care  !     You're  sitting  on  an  epigram" 

"  Do  be  serious.     You  know  I  have  an  insatiable  curi- 
osity to  know  everything   about   everything — to  feel  all 
sensations,  think  all  thoughts.     That  is  the  note  of  my 
being."     The  brown  eyes  had  an  eager,  wistful  look. 
"  Oh,  yes — a  note  of  interrogation." 
"  O  that  I  were  a  man  !     What  do  men  think  ? 


24  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  Men  are  human  beings  first  and 
masculine  afterwards.  And  I  think  everybody  is  like  a 
suburban  Assembly  Hall — to-day  a  temperance  lecture, 
to-morrow  a  dance,  next  day  an  oratorio,  then  a  farcical 
comedy,  and  on  Sunday  a  religious  service.  But  about  this 
appointment  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  us  settle  it  one  way  or  another,"  Lillie  said. 
"  Here  is  my  proposal — 

"  I  have  an  alternative  proposal,"  he  said  desperately. 

"  I  cannot  listen  to  any  other.  Will  you,  or  will  you  not, 
become  Honorary  Trier  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club  ?  " 

"  I'll  try,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  Shall  you  be  present  at  the  trials  ? " 

"  Certainly,  but  I  shall  cultivate  myopia." 

"  It's  a  short-sighted  policy,  Miss  Dulcimer.  Still,  sus- 
tained by  your  presence,  I  feel  I  could  flirt  with  the  most 
beautiful  and  charming  girl  in  the  world.  I  could  do  it, 
even  unsustained  by  the  presence  of  the  other  girl." 

"  Oh,  no  !  You  must  not  flirt  with  me.  I  am  the  only 
Old  Maid  with  whom  flirtation  is  absolutely  taboo." 

"  Then  I  consent,"  said  Silverdale  with  apparent  irrel- 
evance. And  seating  himself  on  the  piano  stool,  after 
carefully  removing  an  epigram  from  the  top  of  the  in- 
strument, he  picked  out  "  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer  "  with 
a  facile  forefinger. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Lillie.     "  Stick  to  your  lute." 

Thus  admonished,  the  nobleman  took  down  Lillie's 
banjo,  which  was  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  struck  a  few 
passionate  chords. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  always  look  on  the  banjo 
as  the  American  among  musical  instruments.  It  is  the 
guitar  with  a  twang.  Wasn't  it  invented  in  the  States  ? 
Anyhow  it  is  the  most  appropriate  instrument  to  which 
to  sing  you  my  Fin  de  Siecle  Love  Song." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  25 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  use  that  poor  overworked 
phrase  ! " 

"  Why  not  ?  It  has  only  a  few  years  to  live.  List  to  my 
sonnet." 

So  saying,  he  strummed  the  strings  and  sang  in  an 
aristocratic  baritone  : 

AD  CHLOEN.— A  VALEDICTORY. 

O  Chloe,  you  are  very,  very  dear, 

And  far  above  your  rivals  in  the  town, 
Who  all  in  vain  essay  to  beat  you  down, 

Embittered  by  your  haughtiness  austere. 
Too  high  you  are  for  lowly  me,  I  fear. 

You  would  not  stoop  to  pick  up  e'en  a  crown, 
Nor  cede  the  slightest  lowering  of  a  gown, 

Though  in  men's  eyes  far  fairer  to  appear. 

With  this  my  message,  kindly  current  go, 
At  half-penny  per  word — it  should  be  less — 

To  Chloe,  telegraphical  address 
(Thus  written  to  economize  two  d) 

Of  Messrs.  Robinson,  De  Vere  &  Co., 
Costumers,  90,  Ludgate  Hill,  E.  C. 

Lillie  laughed.  "  My  actress's  name  is  something  like 
Chloe.  It  is  Clorinda — Clorinda  Bell.  She  tells  me  she 
is  very  celebrated." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  her,"  he  said. 

"  There  is  a  sneer  in  your  tones.  Have  you  heard  any- 
thing to  her  disadvantage  ?  " 

"  Only  that  she  is  virtuous  and  in  Society." 

"  The  very  woman  for  an  Old  Maid !  She  is  beautiful, 
too." 

"  Is  she  ?  I  thought  she  was  one  of  those  actresses  who 
reserve  their  beauty  for  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  no.  She  always  wears  it.  Here  is  her  photograph 
Isn't  that  a  lovely  face  ?  " 


2 6  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  photograph.  Does  she  hope  to  achieve 
recognition  by  it,  J  wonder  ?  " 

"  Sceptic  !  " 

"  I  doubt  all  charms  but  yours." 

"  Well,  you  shall  see  her." 

"  All  right,  but  mention  her  name  clearly  when  you  in- 
troduce me.  Women  are  such  changing  creatures — to-day 
pretty,  to-morrow  plain,  yesterday  ugly.  I  have  to  be  re- 
introduced  to  most  of  my  female  acquaintances  three  times 
a  week.  May  I  wait  to  see  Clorinda  ?  " 

"  No,  not  to-day.  She  has  to  undergo  the  Preliminary 
Exam.  Perhaps  she  may  not  even  matriculate.  Where 
you  come  in  is  at  the  graduation  stage." 

"I  see.  To  pass  them  as  Bachelors — I  mean  Old 
Maids.  I  say,  how  will  you  get  them  to  wear  stuff  gowns  ? " 

The  bell  rang  loudly.  "  That  may  be  she.  Good-bye, 
Lord  Silverdale.  Remember  you  are  Honorary  Trier  of 
the  Old  Maids'  Club,  and  don't  forget  those  chocolate 
creams." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


27 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  IRONED  MASK. 

THE  episode  that  turned  Clorinda  Bell's  thoughts  in  the 
direction  of  Old  Maidenhood  was  not  wanting  in  strange- 
ness. She  was  an  actress  of  whom  everybody  spoke  well, 
excepting  actresses.  This  was  because  she  was  so  re- 
pectable.  Respectability  is  all  very  well  for  persons  who 
possess  no  other  ability ;  but  bohemians  rightly  feel  that 
genius  should  be  above  that  sort  of  thing.  Clorinda  never 
went  anywhere  without  her  mother.  This  lady — a  portly 
taciturn  dame,  whose  hair  had  felt  the  snows  of  sixty  win- 
ters— was  as  much  a  part  of  her  as  a  thorn  is  of  a  rose. 
She  accompanied  her  always — except  when  she  was  sing- 
ing— and  loomed  like  some  more  substantial  shadow  be- 
fore or  behind  her  at  balls  and  receptions,  at  concerts  and 
operas,  private  views  and  church  bazaars.  Her  mother 
was  always  with  her  behind  the  scenes.  She  helped  her  to 
make  up  and  to  unmake.  She  became  the  St.  Peter  of  the 
dressing-room  in  her  absence.  At  the  Green  Room  Club 
they  will  tell  you  how  a  royal  personage  asking  permission 
to  come  and  congratulate  her,  received  the  answer :  "  I  shall 
be  most  honored — in  the  presence  of  my  mother." 

There  were  those  who  wished  Clorinda  had  been  born 
an  orphan. 

But  the  graver  sort  held  Miss  Bell  up  as  a  typical  har- 
binger of  the  new  era,  when  actresses  would  keep  mothers 
instead  of  dog-carts.  There  was  no  intrinsic  reason,  they 


2g  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

said,  why  actresses  should  not  be  received  at  Court,  and 
visit  the  homes  of  the  poor.  Clorinda  was  very  charming. 
She  was  tall  and  fair  as  a  lily,  with  dashes  of  color  stolen 
from  the  rose  and  the  daffodil,  for  her  eyes  had  a  sparkle 
and  her  cheeks  a  flush  and  her  hair  was  usually  golden. 
Not  the  least  of  her  physical  charms  was  the  fact  that 
she  had  numerous  admirers.  But  it  was  understood  that 
she  kept  them  at  a  distance  and  that  they  worshipped  there. 
The  *  Society  journals,  to  which  Clorinda  was  indebted 
for  considerable  information  about  herself,  often  stated 
that  she  intended  to  enter  a  convent,  as  her  higher  nature 
found  scant  satisfaction  in  stage  triumphs,  and  she  had 
refused  to  exchange  her  hand  either  for  a  coronet  or  a  pile 
of  dollars.  They  frequently  stated  the  opposite,  but  a 
Society  journal  cannot  always  be  contradicting  a  contem- 
porary. It  must  sometimes  contradict  itself,  as  a  proof 
of  impartiality.  Clorinda  let  all  these  rumors  surge  about 
her  unheeded,  and  her  managers  had  to  pay  for  the  ad- 
vertisement. The  money  came  back  to  them,  though,  for 
Clorinda  was  a  sure  draw.  She  brought  the  odor  of 
sanctity  over  the  footlights,  and  people  have  almost  as 
much  curiosity  to  see  a  saint  as  a  sinner — especially  when 
the  saint  is  beautiful. 

Gentlemen  in  particular  paid  frequent  pilgrimages  to 
the  shrine  of  the  saint,  and  adored  her  from  the  ten-and- 
sixpenny  pews.  There  was  at  this  period  a  noteworthy 
figure  in  London  dress  circles  and  stalls,  an  inveterate 
first-nighter,  whose  identity  was  the  subject  of  considerable 
speculation.  He  was  a  mystery  in  a  swallow-tail  coat. 
No  one  had  ever  seen  him  out  of  it.  He  seemed  to  go 
through  life  armed  with  a  white  breastplate,  starched  shot- 
proof  and  dazzling  as  a  grenadier's  cuirass.  What  won- 
der that  a  wit  (who  had  become  a  dramatic  critic  through 
drink)  called  him.  "  The  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask." 
Between  the  acts  he  wore  a  cloak,  a  crush-hat  and  a 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  2g 

cigarette.  Nobody  ever  spoke  to  him  nor  did  he  ever  reply. 
He  could  not  be  dumb,  because  he  had  been  heard  to 
murmur  "  Brava,  bravissima,"  in  a  soft  but  incorrect  for- 
eign manner.  He  was  very  handsome,  with  a  high,  white 
forehead  of  the  Goth  order  of  architecture,  and  dark,  Moor- 
ish eyes.  Nobody  even  knew  his  name,  for  he  went  to 
the  play  quite  anonymously.  The  pit  took  him  for  a 
critic,  and  the  critics  for  a  minor  poet.  He  had  appeared 
on  the  scene  (or  before  it)  only  twelve  months  ago,  but 
already  he  was  a  distinguished  man.  Even  the  actors  and 
actresses  had  come  to  hear  of  him,  and  not  a  few  had 
peeped  at  him  between  their  speeches.  He  was  cer- 
tainly a  sight  for  the  "  gods." 

Latterly  he  had  taken  to  frequenting  the  Lymarket, 
where  Miss  Clorinda  Bell  was  "  starring  "  for  a  season  of 
legitimate  drama.  It  was  the  only  kind  the  scrupulous 
actress  would  play  in.  Whenever  there  was  no  first  night 
on  anywhere  else,  he  went  to  see  Clorinda.  Only  a  few 
rivals  and  the  company  knew  of  his  constancy  to  the  en- 
tertainment. Clorinda  was,  it  will  be  remembered,  one  of 
the  company. 

It  was  the  entr'acte  and  the  orchestra  was  playing  a 
gavotte,  to  which  the  eighteenth-century  figures  on  the 
drop  scene  were  dancing.  The  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask 
strolled  in  the  lobby  among  the  critics,  overhearing  the 
views  they  were  not  going  to  express  in  print.  Clorinda 
Bell's  mother  was  brushing  her  child's  magnificent  hair 
into  a  more  tragical  attitude  in  view  of  the  fifth  act.  The 
little  room  was  sacred  to  the  "  star,"  the  desire  of  so  many 
moths.  Neither  maid  not  dresser  entered  it,  for  Mrs. 
Bell  was  as  devoted  to  her  daughter  as  her  daughter  to 
her,  and  tended  her  as  zealously  as  if  she  were  a  stranger. 

"  Yes,  but  why  doesn't  he  speak  ?  "  said  Clorinda. 

"  You  haven't  given  him  a  chance,  darling,"  said  her 
mother. 


yy  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Nonsense — there  is  the  language  of  flowers.  All  my 
lovers  commence  by  talking  that." 

"  You  get  so  many  bouquets,  dear.  It  may  be — as  you 
say  his  appearance  is  so  distinguished — that  he  dislikes 
so  commonplace  a  method." 

"  Well,  if  he  doesn't  want  to  throw  his  love  at  my  feet, 
he  might  have  tried  t3  send  it  me  in  a  billet-doux." 

"  That  is  also  commonplace.  Besides,  he  may  know 
that  all  your  letters  are  delivered  to  me,  and  opened  by 
me.  The  fact  has  often  enough  appeared  in  print." 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  genius  will  find  out  a  way.  You  remem- 
ber Lieutenant  Campbell,  who  was  so  hit  the  moment  he 
saw  me  as  Perdita  that  he  went  across  the  road  to  the 
telegraph-office  and  wired,  '  Meet  me  at  supper,  top  floor, 
Piccadilly  Restaurant,  11.15,'  so  tnat  *-he  doorkeeper  sent 
the  message  direct  to  the  prompter,  who  gave  it  me  as  I 
came  off  with  Florizel  and  Camilla.  That  is  the  sort  of 
man  I  admire  !  " 

"  But  you  soon  tired  of  him,  darling." 

"  Oh,  mother !  How  can  you  say  so  ?  I  loved  him  the 
whole  run  of  the  piece." 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  it  was  only  Shakespeare." 

"  Would  you  have  love  a  Burlesque  ?  'A  Winter's 
Tale  '  is  long  enough  for  any  flirtation.  Let  me  see,  was  it 

Campbell  or  Belfort  who  shot  himself  ?  I  for oh  !  oh  ! 

that  hairpin  is  irritating  me,  mother." 

"  There  !  There  !     Is  that  easier  ? " 

"  Thanks  !  There's  only  the  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask 
irritating  me  now.  His  dumb  admiration  provokes 
me." 

"  But  you  provoke  his  dumb  admiration.  And  are  you 
sure  it  is  admiration  ? " 

"  People  don't  go  to  see  Shakespeare  seventeen  times. 
I  wonder  who  he  is — an  Italian  count  most  likely.  Ah, 
how  his  teeth  flash  beneath  his  moustache  !  " 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  3! 

"  You  make  me  feel  quite  curious  about  him.  Do  you 
think  I  could  peep  at  him  from  the  wing? " 

"  No,  mother,  you  shall  not  be  put  to  the  inconvenience. 
It  would  give  you  a  crick  in  your  neck.  If  you  desire  to 
see  him,  I  will  send  for  him." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  said  the  older  woman  submissively, 
for  she  was  accustomed  to  the  gratification  of  her  daughter's 
whims. 

So  when  the  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask  resumed  his  seat, 
a  programme  girl  slipped  a  note  into  his  hand.  He  read 
it,  his  face  impassive  as  his  Ironed  Mask.  When  the  play 
was  over,  he  sauntered  round  to  the  squalid  court  in  which 
the  stage  door  was  located  and  stalked  nonchalantly  up 
the  stairs.  The  doorkeeper  was  too  impressed  by  his  air 
not  to  take  him  for  granted.  He  seemed  to  go  on  instinct- 
ively till  he  arrived  at  a  door  placarded,  "  Miss  Clorinda 
Bell— Private." 

He  knocked,  and  the  silvery  accents  he  had  been  listen- 
ing to  all  the  evening  bade  him  come  in.  The  beautiful 
Clorinda,  clad  in  diaphanous  white  and  radiating  perfumes, 
received  him  with  an  intoxicating  smile. 

"  It  is  so  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  me,"  she 
said. 

He  made  a  stately  inclination.  "  The  obligation  is 
mine,"  he  said.  "  I  am  greatly  interested  in  the  drama. 
This  is  the  seventeenth  time  I  have  been  to  see  you." 

"  I  meant  here,"  she  said  piqued,  though  the  smile  stayed 
on. 

"  Oh,  but  I  understood "  His  eyes  wandered  inter- 
rogatively about  the  room. 

"  Yes,  I  know  my  mother  is  out,"  she  replied.  "  She  is 
on  the  stage  picking  up  the  bouquets.  I  believe  she  sent 
you  a  note.  I  do  not  know  why  she  wants  to  see  you,  but 
she  will  be  back  soon.  If  you  do  not  mind  being  left 
alone  with  me " 


32 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


"  Pray  do  not  apologize,  Miss  Bell,"  he  said  consider- 
ately, 

"  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  say  so.     Won't  you  sit  down  ? " 

The  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask  sat  down  beside  the 
dazzling  Clorinda  and  stared  expectantly  at  the  door. 
There  was  a  tense  silence.  His  cloak  hung  negligently 
upon  his  shoulders.  He  held  his  crush  hat  calmly  in  his 
hand. 

Clorinda  was  highly  chagrined.  She  felt  as  if  she  could 
slap  his  face  and  kiss  the  place  to  make  it  well. 

"  Did  you  like  the  play  ?  "  she  said,  at  last. 

He  elevated  his  dark  eyebrows.     "  Is  it  not  obvious  ? " 
'"  Not  entirely.     You  might  come  to  see  the  players." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so." 

He  leaned  his  handsome  head  on  his  arm  and  looked 
pensively  at  the  floor.  It  was  some  moments  before  he 
broke  the  silence  again.  But  it  was  only  by  rising  to  his 
feet.  He  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  stay  any  longer,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no  !  You  mustn't  go  without  seeing  my  mother. 
She  will  be  terribly  disappointed." 

"  Not  less  so  than  myself  at  missing  her.  Good-night, 
Miss  Bell."  He  made  his  prim,  courtly  bow. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  see  her !  Come  again  to-morrow 
night,  anyhow,"  exclaimed  Clorinda  desperately.  And 
when  his  footsteps  had  died  away  down  the  stairs,  she 
could  not  repress  several  tears  of  vexation.  Then  she 
looked  hurriedly  into  a  little  mirror  and  marvelled  silently. 

"  Is  he  gone  already  ?  "  said  her  mother,  entering  after 
knocking  cautiously  at  the  door. 

"  Yes,  he  is  insane." 

"  Madly  in  love  with  you  ? " 

"  Madly  out  of  love  with  me." 

He  came  again  the  next  night,  stolid  and  courteous. 
To  Clorinda's  infinite  regret  her  mother  had  been  taken 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  33 

ill  and  had  gone  home  early  in  the  carriage.  It  was  rain- 
ino-  hard.  Clorinda  would  be  reduced  to  a  hansom. 

o 

"  They  call  it  the  London  gondola,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is 
least  comfortable  when  there's  most  water.  You  have  to 
be  framed  in  like  a  cucumber  in  a  hothouse." 

"  Indeed  !  Personally  I  never  travel  in  hansoms. 
And  from  what  you  tell  me  I  should  not  like  to  make  the 
experiment  to-night.  Good-bye,  Miss  Bell ;  present  my 
regrets  to  your  mother." 

"  Deuce  take  the  donkey  !  He  might  at  least  offer  me  a 
seat  in  his  carriage,"  thought  Clorinda.  Aloud  she  said  : 
"  Under  the  circumstances  may  I  venture  to  ask  you  to 
see  my  mother  at  the  house  ?  Here  is  our  private  address. 
Won't  you  come  to  tea  to-morrow  ? " 

He  took  the  card,  bowed  silently  and  withdrew. 

In  such  wise  the  courtship  proceeded  for  some  weeks, 
the  invalid  being  confined  to  her  room  at  teatime  and 
occupied  in  picking  up  bouquets  by  night.  He  always 
came  to  tea  in  his  cloak,  and  wore  his  Ironed  Mask, 
and  was  extremely  solicitous  about  Clorinda's  mother.  It 
became  evident  that  so  long  as  he  had  the  ghost  of  an 
excuse  for  talking  of  the  absent,  he  would  never  talk  of 
Clorinda  herself.  At  last  she  was  reduced  to  intimating 
that  she  would  be  found  at  the  matinee  •  of  a  new  piece 
next  day  (to  be  given  at  the  theatre  by  a  debutante)  and 
that  there  would  be  plenty  of  room  in  her  box.  Clorinda 
was  determined  to  eliminate  her  mother,  who  was  now 
become  an  impediment  instead  of  a  pretext. 

But  when  the  afternoon  came,  she  looked  for  him  in 
vain.  She  chatted  lightly  with  the  acting-manager,  who 
was  lounging  in  the  vestibule,  but  her  eye  was  scanning 
the  horizon  feverishly. 

"  Is  this  woman  going  to  be  a  success  ? "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  acting-manager  promptly. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? " 


34 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


"  I  just  sa.\v  the  flowers  drive  up." 
Clorinda  laughed.     "  What's  the  piece  like  ?  " 
"  I  only  saw  one  rehearsal.     It  seemed   great  twaddle. 
But  the  low  com.  has  got  a  good  catchword,  so  there's 
some  chance  of  its  going  into  the  evening  bills." 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  have  you  seen   anything  of  that — that 
— the  man  in  the  Ironed  Mask,  I  think  they  call  him  ? " 


"  I  just  saw  the  flowers  drive  #/." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  C/. ('/>'. 


35 


"  Do  you  mean  here — this  afternoon  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  No.     Do  you  expect  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  I  was  wondering  if  he  would  turn  up.  I 
hear  he  is  so  fond  of  this  theatre." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  he'd  never  be  seen  at  a  matinde." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Clorinda,  her  heart  fluttering  vio- 
lently. 

"  Because  he'd  have  to  be  in  morning  dress,"  said  the 
actor-manager,  laughing  heartily. 

To  Clorinda  his  innocent  merriment  seemed  the  laugh- 
ter of  a  mocking  fiend.  She  turned  away  sick  at  heart. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  propose  outright  at  tea- 
time.  Clorinda  did  so,  and  was  accepted  without  further 
difficulty. 

"  And  now,  dearest,"  she  said,  after  she  had  been  al- 
lowed to  press  the  first  kiss  of  troth  upon  his  coy  lips, 
"  I  should  like  to  know  who  I  am  going  to  be  ?  *' 

"  Clorinda  Bell,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  That  is  the  ad- 
vantage actresses  have.  They  need  not  take  their  hus- 
band's name  in  vain." 

"  Yes,  but  what  am  /  to  call  you,  dearest  ?  " 

"  Dearest  ?  "  he  echoed  enigmatically.  "  Let  me  be 
dearest — for  a  little  while." 

She  forbore  to  press  him  further.  For  the  moment  it 
was  enough  to  have  won  him.  The  sweetness  of  that 
soothed  her  wounded  vanity  at  his  indifference  to  the 
prize  coveted  by  men  and  convents.  Enough  that  she 
was  to  be  mated  to  a  great  man,  whose  speech  and  silence 
alike  bore  the  stamp  of  individuality. 

"  Dearest  be  it,"  she  answered,  looking  fondly  into  his 
Moorish  eyes.  "  Dearest  !  Dearest !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Clorinda.  And  now  may  I  see  your 
mother  ?  I  have  never  learnt  what  she  has  to  say  to  me." 

"  What  does  it  matter  now,  dearest  ?  " 


3  6  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  More  than  ever,"  he  said  gravely,  "now  she  is  to  be 
my  mother-in-law." 

Clorinda  bit  her  lip  at  the  dignified  rebuke,  and  rang 
for  his  mother-in-law  elect,  who  came  from  the  sick  room 
in  her  bonnet. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  as  the  good  dame  sailed  through 
the  door,  "•  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  future  husband." 

The  old  lady's  face  lit  up  with  surprise  and  excitement. 


A  Family  Reunion. 

She  stood  still  for  an  instant,  taking  in  the  relationship 
so  suddenly  sprung  upon  her.  Then  she  darted  with 
open  arms  towards  the  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask  and 
strained  his  Mask  to  her  bosom. 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  "  she  cried,  kissing  him  passion- 
ately. He  blushed  like  a  stormy  sunset  and  tried  to  dis- 
engage himself. 

"  Do  not  crumple  him,  mother,"  said  Clorinda  pettishly. 
"  Your  zeal  is  overdone." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


37 


"  But  he  is  my  long-lost  Absalom  !  Think  of  the  rapt- 
ure of  having  him  restored  to  me  thus.  O  what  a  happy 
family  we  shall  be  !  Bless  you,  Clorinda.  Bless  you,  my 
children.  When  is  the  wedding  to  be  ? " 

The  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask  had  regained  his  com- 
posure. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  sternly,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  look- 
ing so  well.  I  always  knew  you  would  fall  on  your  feet  if 
I  dropped  you.  I  have  no  right  to  ask  it — but  as  you 
seem  to  expect  me  to  marry  your  daughter,  a  little  infor- 
mation as  to  the  circumstances  under  which  you  have 
supplied  me  with  a  sister  would  be  not  unwelcome. 

"  Stupid  boy  !  Don't  you  understand  that  Miss  Bell  was 
good  enough  to  engage  me  as  mother  and  travelling  com- 
panion when  you  left  me  to  starve  ?  Or  rather,  the  im- 
presario who  brought  her  over  from  America  engaged  me, 
and  Clorinda  has  been,  oh,  so  good  to  me  !  My  little 
drapery  business  failed  three  months  after  you  left  me  to 
get  a  stranger  to  serve.  I  had  no  resource  but — to  go 
on  the  stage." 

The  old  woman  was  babbling  on,  but  the  cold  steel  of 
Clorinda's  gaze  silenced  her. 

The  outraged  actress  turned  haughtily  to  the  Man  in 
the  Ironed  Mask. 

"  So  this  is  your  mother  ?  "  she  said  with  infinite  scorn. 

"  So  this  is  not  your  mother  !  "  he  said  with  infinite  in- 
dignation. 

"  Were  you  ever  really  simple  enough  to  suspect  me  of 
having  a  mother  ?  "  she  retorted  contemptuously.  "  I  had 
her  on  the  hire  system.  Don't  you  know  that  a  combina- 
tion of  maid  and  mother  is  the  newest  thing  in  actresses' 
wardrobes  ?  It  is  safer  then  having  a  maid,  and  more 
comfortable  than  having  a  mother." 

"  But  I  have  been  a  mother  to  you,  Clorinda,"  the  old 
dame  pleaded. 


•jg  TJ/E  OLD  MAIDS'  CI.l'H. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have  always  been  a  good,  obedient  woman. 
I  am  not  finding  fault  with  you,  and  I  have  no  wish  to 
part  with  you.  I  do  find  fault  and  I  shall  certainly  part 
with  your  son." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask.  "  The 
situation  is  essentially  unchanged.  She  is  still  the  mother 
of  one  of  us,  she  can  still  become  the  mother-in-law  of  the 
other.  Besides,  Clorinda,  that  is  the  only  way  of  keeping 
the  secret  in  the  family." 

"  You  threaten  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  You  are  a  humbug.  So  am  I.  United 
we  stand.  Separated,  you  fall." 

"You  fall,  too." 

"  Not  from  such  a  height.     I  am  still  on  the  first  rungs." 

"  Nor  likely  to  get  any  higher." 

"  Indeed  ?  Your  experience  of  me  should  have  taught 
you  different.  High  as  you  are,  I  can  raise  you  yet  higher 
if  you  will  only  lift  me  up  to  you." 

"  How  do  you  climb  ?  "  she  said,  his  old  ascendency 
reasserting  itself. 

"  By  standing  still.  Profound  meditation  on  the 
philosophy  of  modern  society  has  convinced  me  that 
the  only  way  left  for  acquiring  notoriety  is  to  do 
nothing.  Every  other  way  has  been  exploited  and  is  sus- 
pected. It  is  only  a  year  since  the  discovery  flashed  upon 
me,  it  is  only  a  year  that  I  have  been  putting  it  in  practice. 
And  yet,  mark  the  result !  Already  I  am  a  known  man. 
I  had  the  entree  to  no  society ;  for  half-a-guinea  a  night 
(frequently  paid  in  paper  money)  I  have  mingled  with  the 
most  exclusive.  When  there  was  no  premiere  anywhere,  I 
went  to  see  you — not  from  any  admiration  of  you,  but  be- 
cause the  Lymarket  is  the  haunt  of  the  best  society,  and 
in  addition,  the  virtue  of  Shakespeare  and  of  yourself 
attracts  there  a  highly  respectable  class  of  bishops  whom 
I  have  not  the  opportunity  of  meeting  elsewhere.  By 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


39 


doing  nothing  I  fascinated  you — somebody  was  sure  to  be 
fascinated  by  it  at  last,  as  the  dove  flutters  into  the  jaws 
of  the  lethargic  serpent — by  continuing  to  do  nothing  I 
completed  my  conquest.  Had  I  met  your  advances,  you 
would  have  repelled  mine.  My  theories  have  been  com- 
pletely demonstrated,  and  but  for  the  accident  of  our  hav- 
ing a  common  mother " 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  said  Clorinda  haughtily. 

"  It  is  for  myself  that  I  am  speaking.  When  we  are  one, 
I  shall  continue  this  policy  of  masterly  inactivity  of  which 
I  claim  the  invention,  though  it  has  long  been  known  in 
the  germ.  Everybody  knows  for  instance  that  not  to 
trouble  to  answer  letters  is  the  surest  way  of  acquiring 
the  reputation  of  a  busy  man,  that  not  to  accept  invita- 
tions is  an  infallible  way  of  getting  more,  that  not  to  care 
a  jot  about  the  feelings  of  the  rest  of  the  household,  is  an 
unfailing  means  of  enforcing  universal  deference.  But 
the  glory  still  remains  to  him  who  first  grasped  this  great 
law  in  its  generalized  form,  however  familiar  one  or  two 
isolated  cases  of  it  may  be  to  the  world.  '  Do  nothing '  is 
the  last  word  of  social  science,  as  '  Nil  admirari '  was  its 
first.  Just  as  silence  is  less  self-contradictory  than  speech, 
so  is  inaction  a  safer  foundation  of  fame  than  action.  In- 
action is  perfect.  The  moment  you  do  anything  you  are 
in  the  region  of  incompleteness,  of  definiteness.  Your 
work  may  be  outdone — or  undone.  Your  inventions  may 
be  improved  upon,  your  victories  annulled,  your  popular 
books  ridiculed,  your  theories  superseded,  your  paintings 
decried,  the  seamy  side  of  your  explanations  shown  up. 
Successful  doing  creates  not  only  enemies  but  the  material 
for  their  malice  to  work  upon.  Only  by  not  having  done 
anything  to  deserve  success  can  you  be  sure  of  surviving 
the  reaction  which  success  always  brings.  To  be  is 
higher  than  to  do.  To  be  is  calm,  large,  elemental ;  to 
do  is  trivial,  artificial,  fussy.  To  be  has  been  the  moth  of 


40  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  C/.Cfi. 

the  English  aristocracy,  it  is  the  secret  of  their  persist- 
ence. Qui  s'excuse  s'accuss.  He  who  strives  to  justify 
his  existence  imperils  it.  To  be  is  inexpugnable,  to  do 
is  dangerous.  The  same  principle  rules  in  all  departments 
of  social  life.  What  is  a  successful  reception  ?  A  gather- 
ing at  which  everybody  is.  Nobody  does  anything.  No- 
body enjoys  anything.  There  everybody  is — if  only  for 
five  minutes  each,  and  whatever  the  crush  and  discom- 
fort. You  are  there — and  there  you  are,  don't  you  know  ? 
What  is  a  social  lion  ?  A  man  who  is  everywhere.  What 
is  social  ambition  ?  A  desire  to  be  in  better  people's 
drawing-rooms.  What  is  it  for  which  people  barter  health, 
happiness,  even  honor  ?  To  be  on  certain  pieces  of  flooring 
inaccessible  to  the  mass.  What  is  the  glory  of  doing 
compared  with  the  glory  of  being  ?  Let  others  elect  to 
do,  I  elect  to  be." 

"  So  long  as  you  do  not  choose  to  be  my  husband " 

"  It  is  husband  or  brother, v  he  said,  threateningly. 

"  Of  course.  I  become  your  sister  by  rejecting  you,  do 
I  not  ?  " 

"  Don't  trifle.  You  understand  what  I  mean.  I  will 
let  the  world  know  that  your  mother  is  mine." 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  in  silent  defiance. 
At  last  Clorinda  spoke  : 

"  A  compromise  !  let  the  world  know  that  my  mother  is 
yours." 

"  I  see.     Pose  as  your  brother  !  " 

"  Yes.  That  will  help  you  up  a  good  many  rungs.  I 
shall  not  deny  I  am  your  sister.  My  mother  will  cer- 
tainly not  deny  that  you  are  her  son." 

"  Done  !  So  long  as  my  theories  are  not  disproved. 
Conjugate  the  verb  'to  be,'  and  you  shall  be  successful. 
Let  me  see.  How  does  it  run  ?  I  am — your  brother, 
thou  art — my  sister,  she  is — my  mother, — we  are — her  chil- 
dren, you  are — my  womankind,  they  are — all  spoofed." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  4I 

So  the  man  in  the  Ironed  Mask  turned  out  to  be  the 
brother  of  the  great  and  good  actress,  Clorinda  Bell. 
And  several  people  had  known  it  all  along,  for  what  but 
fraternal  interest  had  taken  him  so  often  to  the  Lymarket  t 
And  when  his  identity  leaked  out,  Society  ran  after  him, 
and  he  gave  the  interviewers  interesting  details  of  his  sis- 
ter's early  years.  And  everyone  spoke  of  his  mother,  and 
of  his  solicitous  attendance  upon  her.  And  in  due  course 
the  tale  of  his  virtues  reached  a  romantic  young  heiress 
who  wooed  and  won  him.  And  so  he  continued  being,  till 
he  was — no  more.  By  his  own  request  they  buried  him 
in  an  Ironed  Mask,  and  put  upon  his  tomb  the  profound 
inscription 

"  HERE  LIES  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS." 


And  this  was  why  Clorinda,  disgusted  with  men  and 
lovers,  and  unable  to  marry  her  brother,  caught  at  the 
notion  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club  and  called  upon  Lillie. 

It  was  almost  as  good  a  cover  as  a  mother,  and  it  was 
well  to  have  something  ready  in  case  she  lost  her,  as  you 
cannot  obtain  a  second  mother  even  on  the  hire  sys- 
tem. But  Lord  Silverdale's  report  consisted  of  one  word, 
"Dangerous!"  —  and  he  rejoiced  at  the  whim  which 
enabled  him  thus  to  protect  the  impulsive  little  girl  he 
loved. 

Clorinda  divined  from  Lillie's  embarrassment  next  day 
that  she  was  to  be  blackballed. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  hastened  to  say,  "  that  on  second 
thoughts  I  must  withdraw  my  candidature,  as  I  could  not 
make  a  practice  of  coming  here  without  my  mother." 

Lillie  referred  to  the  rules.  "  Married  women  are  ad- 
mitted," she  said  simply.  "  I  presume,  therefore,  your 
mother " 


42  77/7:   OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  It's  just  like  your  presumption,"  interrupted  Clorinda, 
and  flouncing  angrily  out  of  the  Club,  she  invited  a  jour- 
nalist to  tea. 

Next  day  the  Moon  said  she  was  going  to  join  the  Old 
Maids'  Club. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CLUB  GETS  ADVERTISED. 

"  I  SEE  you  have  disregarded  my  ruling,  Miss  Dulci- 
mer !  "  said  Lord  Silverdale,  pointing  to  the  paragraph 
in  the  Moon.  "  What  is  the  use  of  my  trying  the  candi- 
dates if  you're  going  to  admit  the  plucked  ?  " 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Lord  Silverdale.  I  thought 
you  had  more  wisdom  than  to  base  a  reproach  on  a  Moon 
paragraph.  You  might  have  known  it  was  not  true." 

"  That  is  not  my  experience,  Miss  Dulcimer.  I  do  not 
think  a  statement  is  necessarily  false  because  it  appears 
in  the  newspapers.  There  is  hardly  a  paper  in  which  I 
have  not,  at  some  time  or  other,  come  across  a  true  piece 
of  news.  Even  the  Moon  is  not  all  made  of  green 
cheese." 

"  But  you  surely  do  not  think  I  would  accept  Clorinda 
Bell  after  your  warning.  Not  but  that  I  am  astonished. 
She  assured  me  she  was  ice." 

"  Precisely.  And  so  I  marked  her  '  Dangerous.'  Are 
there  any  more  candidates  to-day  ?  " 

"  Heaps  and  heaps !  From  all  parts  of  the  kingdom 
letters  have  come  from  ladies  anxious  to  become  Old 
Maids.  There  is  even  one  application  from  Paris.  Ought 
I  to  entertain  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Candidates  may  hail  from  anywhere — ex- 
cepting naturally  the  United  States. 


-44  THE  OLD  MA/DS'  CLUB. 

"But  what,  I  wonder,  has  caused  this  tide  of.  applica- 
tions ?  " 

"  The  Moon,  of  course.  The  fiction  that  Clorinda  Bell 
intended  to  take  the  secular  veil  has  attracted  all  these 
imitators.  She  has  given  the  Club  a  good  advertisement 
in  endeavoring  merely  to  give  herself  one." 

"You  suspect  her,  then,  of  being  herself  responsible 
for  the  statement  that  she  was  going  to  join  the  Club  ? " 

"  No.  I  am  sure  of  it.  Who  but  herself  knew  that  she 
was  not  ? " 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine  that  she  would  employ  such 
base  arts." 

"  Higher  arts  are  out  of  employment  nowadays." 

"  Is  there  any  way  of  finding  out  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  She  has  no  bosom  friends.  Stay — 
there  is  her  mother  !  " 

"  Mothers  do  not  tell  their  daughters'  secrets.  They 
do  not  know  them." 

"  Well,  there's  her  brother.  I  was  introduced  to  him 
the  other  day  at  Mrs.  Leo  Hunter's.  But  he  seems  such 
a  reticent  chap.  Only  opens  his  mouth  twice  an  hour, 
and  then  merely  to  show  his  teeth.  Oh,  I  know  !  I'll 
get  at  the  Moon  man.  My  aunt,  the  philanthropist,  who 
is  quite  a  journalist  (sends  so  many  paragraphs  round 
about  herself,  you  know),  will  tell  me  who  invents  that 
sort  of  news,  and  I'll  interview  the  beggar." 

"  Yes,  won't  it  be  fun  to  run  her  to  earth  ? "  said  Lillie 
gleefully. 

Silverdale  took  advantage  of  her  good-humor. 

"  I  hope  the  discovery  of  the  baseness  of  your  sex  will 
turn  you  again  to  mine."  There  was  a  pleading  tender- 
ness in  his  eyes. 

"  What !  to  your  baseness  ?  I  thought  you  were  so 
good." 

"  I  am  no  good  without  you,"  he  said  boldly. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


45 


"  Oh,  that  is  too  rich  !  Suppose  I  had  never  been 
born  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  wished  I  hadn't." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  known  /hadn't." 

"You're  getting,  too  metaphysical  for  my  limited  un- 
derstanding." 

"  Nonsense,  you  understand  metaphysics  as  well  as  I 
do." 

"  Do  not  disparage  yourself.  You  know  I  cannot 
endure  metaphysies." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  mostly  made  in  Germany.  And  all 
Germans  write  as  if  their  aim  was  to  be  misunderstood. 
Listen  to  my  simple  English  lay." 

"  Another  love-song  to  Chloe  ?  " 

"  No,  a  really  great  poem,  suggested  by  the  number  of 
papers  and  poems  I  have  already  seen  this  Moon  para- 
graph in." 

He  took  down  the  banjo,  thrummed  it,  and  sang  : 


THE  GRAND  PARAGRAPHIC  TOUR. 

I  composed  a  little  story 

About  a  cockatoo. 
With  no  desire  of  glory, 

To  see  what  would  ensue. 

It  took  the  public  liking 

From  China  to  Peru. 
The  point  of  it  was  striking, 

Though  perfectly  untrue. 

It  began  in  a  morning  journal 
When  gooseberries  were  due, 

The  subject  seemed  eternal, 
So  many  scribes  it  drew. 


46  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

And  in  every  evening  column 
It  made  a  great  to-do, 

Sub-editors  so  solemn 
Just  adding  thereunto. 

In  the  London  Correspondence 
'Twas  written  up  anew, 

And  then  a  fog  came  on  dense 
And  hid  me  quite  from  view. 

And  some  said  they  had  heard  it 
From  keepers  in  the  Zoo, 

While  others  who  averred  it 
Had  seen  that  cockatoo. 

It  lived,  my  little  fable, 
I  chuckled  and  I  crew 

As  at  my  very  table 

Friends  twisted  it  askew. 

It  leapt  across  the  Channel, 
A  bounding  kangaroo. 

It  did  not  shrink  like  flannel 
But  gained  in  size  and  hue. 

It  appeared  in  French  and  Spanish 
With  errors  not  a  few, 

In  Russian,  Greek  and  Danish, 
Inaccurately,  too. 

And  waxing  more  romantic 
With  every  wind  that  blew, 

It  crossed  the  broad  Atlantic 
And  grew  and  grew  and  grew. 

At  last,  like  boomerang,  it 
Sped  back  across  the  blue, 

And  tall  and  touched  with  twang,  it 
Appeared  whence  first  it  flew. 

An  annual  affliction, 

It  tours  the  wide  world  through, 
And  I  who  bred  the  fiction 

Have  come  to  think  it  true. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  '  47 

Life's  burden  it  has  doubled, 

For  peace  of  mind  it  slew, 
My  dreams  by  it  are  troubled, 

My  days  are  filled  with  rue. 

Its  horrors  yearly  thicken, 

It  sticks  to  me  like  glue, 
And  sad  and  conscience-stricken 

1  curse  that  cockatoo. 

"  That  is  what  will  happen  with  Clorinda  Bell's  member- 
ship of  our  club,"  continued  the  poet.  "  She  wi)l  remain 
a  member  long  after  it  has  ceased  to  exist.  Once  a  thing 
has  appeared  in  print,  you  cannot  destroy  it.  A  published 
lie  is  immortal.  Age  cannot  wither  it,  nor  custom  stale  its 
infinite  variety.  It  thrives  by  contradiction.  Give  me  a 
cup  of  tea  and  I  will  go  and  interview  the  J/i?<?#-man  at 
once." 

The  millionaire,  hearing  tea  was  on  the  tray,  came  in  to 
join  them,  and  Silverdale  soon  went  off  to  his  aunt,  Lady 
Goody-Goody  Twoshoes,  and  got  the  address  of  the  man 
in  the  Moon. 

"  Lillie,  what's  this  I  see  in  the  Moon  about  Clorinda 
Bell  joining  your  Club }  "  asked  the  millionaire. 

"An  invention,  father." 

The  millionaire  looked  disappointed. 

"  Will  all  your  Old  Maids  be  young  >  " 

"  Yes,  papa.     It  is  best  to  catch  them  young." 

"  I  shall  be  dining  at  the  Club  sometimes,"  he  announced 
irrelevantly. 

"  Oh,  no,  papa.  You  are  not  admissible  during  the  sit- 
tings." 

"  Why  >     You  let  Lord  Silverdale  in." 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  not  married." 

"  Oh  !  "  and  the  millionaire  went  away  with  brighter 
brow. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


The  rest  of  the  afternoon  Lillie  was  busy  conducting  the 
Preliminary  Examination  of  a  surpassingly  beautiful  girl 
who  answered  to  the  name  of  "  Princess,"  and  would  give 

no  other  name  for  the 
present,  not  even  to  Tur- 
ple  the  magnificent. 

"  You  got  my  letter, 
I  suppose  ?  "  asked  the 
Princess. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the 
President.  "I  should 
have  written  to  you." 

«  i  thought  it  best  to 
come  and  see  you  about 
it  at  once,  as  I  have 
suddenly  determined  to 
go  to  Brighton,  and  I 
don't  know  when  I  may 
be  back.  I  had  not 
heard  of  your  Club  till 
the  other  day,  when  I 
saw  in  the  Moon  that 
Clorinda  Bell  was  going 
to  join  it,  and  anything 
she  joins  must  of  course 
be  strictly  proper,  so  I 
haven't  troubled  to  ask 
the  Honorable  Miss 
Primpole's  advice — she 
lives  with  me,  you  know.  An  only  orphan  cannot  be  too 
careful !  " 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  said  Lillie.  "  Miss  Bell  is  not  to 
be  a  member.  We  have  refused  her." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  Well,  perhaps  it  is  as  well  not  to  bring 
the  scent  of  the  footlights  over  the  Club.  It  is  hard  upon 


The  Millionaire. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  49 

Miss  Bell,  but  if  you  were  to  admit  her,  I  suppose  other 
actresses  would  want  to  come  in.  There  are  so  many  of 
them  that  prefer  to  remain  single." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  do  ?  " 

"  Positive.  My  experience  of  lovers  has  been  so  harass- 
ing and  peculiar  that  I  shall  never  marry,  and  as  my  best 
friends  cannot  call  me  a  wall-flower,  I  venture  to  think  you 
will  find  me  a  valuable  ally  in  your  noble  campaign  against 
the  degrading  superstition  that  Old  Maids  are  women  who 
have  not  found  husbands,  just  as  widows  are  women  who 
have  lost  them." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  so,"  said  Lillie  enthusiastically. 
"  You  express  my  views  very  neatly.  May  I  ask  what  are 
the  peculiar  experiences  you  speak  of  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Some  months  ago  I  amused  myself  by  re- 
cording the  strange  episodes  of  my  first  loves,  and  in  an- 
ticipation of  your  request  I  have  brought  the  manuscript.'* 

"  Oh,  please  read  it !  "  said  Lillie  excitedly. 

"  Of  course  I  have  not  given  the  real  names." 

"  No,  I  quite  understand.  Won't  you  have  a  chocolate 
cream  before  you  commence  ?  " 

"  Thank  you.    They  look  lovely.     How  awfully  sweet !  " 

"  Too  sweet  for  you  ?  "  inquired  Lillie  anxiously. 

"  No,  no.     I  mean  they  are  just  nice." 

The  Princess  untied  the  pretty  pink  ribbon  that  enfolded 
the  dainty,  scented  manuscript,  and  pausing  only  to  munch 
an  occasional  chocolate  cream,  she  read  on  till  the  shades 
of  evening  fell  over  the  Old  Maids'  Club  and  the  soft  glow 
of  the  candles  illuminated  its  dainty  complexion. 

4 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"THE  PRINCESS  OF  PORTMAN  SQUARE." 

I  AM  an  only  child.  I  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in 
my  mouth,  and  although  there  was  no  royal  crest  on  it,  yet 
no  princess  could  be  more  comfortable  in  the  purple  than 
I  was  in  the  ordinary  trappings  of  babyhood.  From  the 
cradle  upwards  I  was  surrounded  with  love  and  luxury. 
My  pet  name  "  Princess  "  fitted  me  like  a  glove.  I  was 
the  autocrat  of  the  nursery  and  my  power  scarce  diminished 
when  I  rose  to  the  drawing-room.  My  parents  were  very 
obedient  and  did  not  even  conceal  from  me  that  I  was 
beautiful.  In  short  they  did  their  best  to  spoil  me,  though 
I  cannot  admit  that  they  succeeded.  I  lost  them  both 
before  I  was  sixteen.  My  poor  mother  died  first  and  my 
poor  father  followed  within  a  week  ;  whether  from  grief  or 
from  a  cold  caught  through  standing  bareheaded  in  the 
churchyard,  or  from  employing  the  same  doctor,  I  cannot 
precisely  determine. 

After  the  usual  period  of  sorrow,  I  began  to  pick  up  a 
bit  and  to  go  out  under  the  care  of  my  duenna,  a  faded 
flower  of  the  aristocracy  whose  declining  years  my  guard- 
ian had  soothed  by  quartering  her  on  me.  She  was  a 
gentle  old  spinster,  the  seventh  daughter  of  a  penniless 
peer,  and  although  she  has  seen  hard  times  and  has  almost 
been  reduced  to  marriage,  yet  she  has  scant  respect  for 
my  ten  thousand  a  year.  She  has  never  lost  the  sense  of 
condescension  in  living  with  me,  and  would  be  horrified 
to  hear  she  is  in  receipt  of  a  salary.  It  is  to  this  sense  of 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  ^ 

superiority  on  her  part  that  I  owe  a  good  deal  of  the  liberty 
I  enjoy  under  her  re'gime.  She  does  not  expect  in  me  that 
rigid  obedience  to  venerable  forms  and  conventions  which 
she  prescribes  for  herself ;  she  regards  it  as  a  privilege  of 
the  higher  gentlewoman  to  be  bound  hand  and  foot  by 
fashionable  etiquette,  and  so  long  as  my  liberty  does  not 
degenerate  into  license  I  am  welcome  to  as  much  as  I  please 
of  it.  She  has  continued  to  call  me  "  Princess,"  findin^ 

o 

doubtless  some  faint  reverberation  of  pleasure  in  the  mag- 
nificent syllables.  I  should  add  that  her  name  is  the 
Honorable  Miss  Primpole  and  that  she  is  not  afraid  of 
the  butler. 

Our  town-house  was  situated  in  Portman  Square  and  my 
parents  tenanted  it  during  the  season.  There  is  nothing 
very  poetic  about  the  Square,  perhaps,  not  even  in  the 
summer,  when  the  garden  is  in  bloom,  yet  it  was  here  that 
I  first  learnt  to  love.  This  dull  parallelogram  was  the 
birthplace  of  a  passion  as  spiritual  and  intangible  as  ever 
thrilled  maiden's  heart.  I  fell,  in  love  with  a  Voice. 

It  was  a  rich,  baritone  Voice,  with  a  compass  of  two 
and  a  half  octaves,  rising  from  full  bass  organ-notes  to 
sweet,  flute-like  tenor  tones.  It  was  a  glorious  Voice,  now 
resonant  with  martial  ecstasy,  now  faint  with  mystic 
rapture.  Its  vibrations  were  charged  with  inexpressible 
emotion,  and  it  sang  of  love  and  death  and  high  heroic 
themes.  I  heard  it  first  a  few  months  after  my  father's 
funeral.  It  was  night.  I  had  been  indoors  all  day,  torpid 
and  miserable,  but  roused  myself  at  last  and  took  a  few 
turns  in  the  square.  The  air  was  warm  and  scented,  a 
cloudless  moon  flooded  the  roadway  with  mellow  light  and 
sketched  in  the  silhouettes  of  the  trees  in  the  background. 
I  had  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  square  for  the 
second  time  when  the  Voice  broke  out.  My  heart  stood 
still  and  I  with  it. 

On  the  soft  summer  air  the  Voice  rose  and  fell ;  it  was 


5  2  Till'.  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

accompanied  on  the  piano,  but  it  seemed  in  subtler  har- 
mony with  the  moonlight  and  the  perfumed  repose  of  the 
night.  It  came  through  an  open  window  behind  which 
the  singer  sat  in  the  gloaming.  With  the  first  tremors  of 
that  Voice  my  soul  forgot  its  weariness  in  a  strange  sweet 
trance  that  trembled  on  pain.  The  song  seemed  to  draw 
out  all  the  hidden  longing  of  my  maiden  soul,  as  secret 
writing  is  made  legible  by  fire.  When  the  Voice  ceased, 
a  great  blackness  fell  upon  all  things,  the  air  grew  bleak. 
I  waited  and  waited  but  the  Square  remained  silent.  The 
footsteps  of  stray  pedestrians,  the  occasional  roil  of  a 
carriage  alone  fell  on  my  anxious  ear.  I  returned  to  my 
house,  shivering  as  with  cold.  I  had  never  loved  before. 
I  had  read  and  reflected  a  great  deal  about  love,  and  was 
absolutely  ignorant  of  the  subject.  I  did  not  know  that  I 
loved  now — for  that  discovery  only  came  later  when  I 
found  myself  wandering  nightly  to  the  other  side  of  the 
parallelogram,  listening  for  the  Voice.  Rarely,  very 
rarely,  was  my  pilgrimage  rewarded,  but  twice  or  thrice  a 
week  the  Square  became  an  enchanted  garden,  full  of 
roses  whose  petals  were  music.  Round  that  baritone 
Voice  I  had  built  up  an  ideal  man — tall  and  straight- 
limbed  and  stalwart,  fair-haired  and  blue-eyed  and  noble- 
featured,  like  the  hero  of  a  Northern  Saga.  His  soul  was 
vast  as  the  sea,  shaken  with  the  storms  of  passion,  dim- 
pled with  smiles  of  tenderness.  His  spirit  was  at  once 
mighty  and  delicate,  throbbing  with  elemental  forces  yet 
keen  and  swift  to  comprehend  all  subtleties  of  thought 
and  feeling.  I  could  not  understand  myself,  yet  I  felt 
that  he  would  understand  me.  He  had  the  heart  of  a 
lion  and  of  a  little  child ;  he  was  as  merciful  as  he  was 
strong,  as  pure  as  he  was  wise.  To  be  with  him  were 
happiness,  to  feel  his  kiss  ecstasy,  to  be  gathered  to  his 
breast,  delirium,  But  alas  !  he  never  knew  that  I  was 
waiting  under  his  window. 


7 •///•:  OLD  MAIDS'  Cf.L'fi. 


53 


I  made  several  abortive  attempts  to  discover  who  he 
was  or  to  see  him.  According  to  the  Directory  the  house 
was  occupied  by  Lady  Westerton.  I  concluded  that  he 
was  her  elder  son.  That  he  might  be  her  husband — cr 
some  other  lady's — never  even  occurred  to  me.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  should  have  attached  the  Voice  to  a  bachelor, 
any  more  than  I  can  explain  why  he  should  be  the  eldest 
son,  rather  than  the  youngest.  But  romance  has  a  logic 
of  its  own.  From  the  topmost  window  of  my  house  I 
could  see  Lady  Westerton's  house  across  the  trees,  but  I 
never  saw  him  leave  or  enter  it.  Once,  a  week  went  by 
without  my  hearing  him  sing.  I  did  not  know  whether  to 
think  of  him  as  a  sick  bird  or  as  one  flown  to  warmer 
climes.  I  tried  to  construct  his  life  from  his  periods  of 
song,  I  watched  the  lights  in  his  window,  my  whole  life 
circled  round  him.  It  was  only  when  I  grew  pale  and 
feverisn  and  was  forced  by  the  doctors  and  my  guardian 
to  go  yachting  that  my  fancies  gradually  detached  them- 
selves from  my  blue-eyed  hero.  The  sea-salt  freshened 
my  thoughts,  I  became  a  healthy-minded  girl  again, 
carolling  joyously  in  my  cabin  and  taking  pleasure  in 
listening  to  my  own  voice.  I  threw  my  novels  overboard 
(metaphorically,  that  is)  and  set  the  Hon.  Miss  Primpole 
charting  instead,  when  the  seascape  palled  upon  me.  She 
had  a  great  fund  of  strictly  respectable  memories.  Most 
people's  recollections  are  of  no  use  to  anybody  but  the 
owner,  but  hers  afforded  entertainment  for  both  of  us.  By 
the  time  I  was  back  in  London  the  Voice  was  no  longer 
part  even  of  my  dreams,  though  it  seemed  to  belong  to 
them.  But  for  accident  it  might  have  remained  forever 
"a  voice  and  nothing  more."  The  accident  happened  at 
a  musical-afternoon  in  Kensington.  I  was  introduced 
to  a  tall,  fair,  handsome  blue-eyed  guardsman,  Captain 
Athelstan  by  name.  His  conversation  was  charming  and 
I  took  a  lot  of  it,  while  Miss  Primpole  was  busy  flirting 


54 


THE  Of.D  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


with  a  seductive  Spaniard.  You  could  not  tell  Miss 
Primpole  was  flirting  except  by  looking  at  the  man.  In 
the  course  of  the  afternoon  the  hostess  asked  the  captain 
to  sing.  As  he  went  to  the  piano  my  heart  began  to 
flutter  with  a  strange  foreboding.  He  had  no  music  with 
him,  but  plunged  at  once  into  the  promonitory  chords. 
My  agitation  increased  tenfold.  He  was  playing  the 
prelude  to  one  of  the  Voice's  songs — a  strange,  haunting 
song  with  a  Schubert  atmosphere,  a  song  which  I  had 
looked  for  in  vain  among  the  classics.  At  once  he  was 
transfigured  to  my  eyes,  all  my  sleeping  romantic  fancies 
woke  to  delicious  life,  and  in  the  instant  in  which  I  waited, 
with  bated  breath,  for  the  outbreak  of  the  Voice  at  the  well- 
known  turn  of  the  melody,  it  was  borne  in  upon  me  that 
this  was  the  only  man  I  had  ever  loved  or  would  ever 
love.  My  Saga  hero  !  my  Berserker,  my  Norse  giant ! 

When  the  Voice  started  it  was  not  my  Voice.  It  was  a 
thin,  throaty  tenor.  Compared  with  the  Voice  of  Portman 
Square,  it  was  as  a  tinkling  rivulet  to  a  rushing  full- 
volumed  river.  I  sank  back  on  the  lounge,  hiding  my 
emotions  behind  my  fan. 

When  the  song  was  finished,  he  made  his  way  through 
the  "  Bravas  "  to  my  side. 

"  Sweetly  pretty !  "  I  murmured. 

"  The  song  or  the  singing?  "  he  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  The  song,"  I  answered  frankly.     "  Is  it  yours  ?^' 

"  No,  but  the  singing  is  !  " 

His  good-humor  was  so  delightful  that  I  forgave  his  not 
having  my  Voice. 

"  What  is  its  name  ? " 

"  It  is  anonymous — like  the  composer." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  must  not  tell." 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  copy  of  the  song  ?  " 

He  became  embarrassed. 


THE  OLD  MA  JDS'  CLUB. 


55 


J^ATJ  Primpole  was  flirting  with  a  seductive  Spaniard. 


56  T1IK  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  I  would  with  pleasure,  if  it  were  mine.  But  the  fact  is 
• — I — I — had  no  right  to  sing  it  at  all,  and  the  composer 
would  be  awfully  vexed  if  he  knew." 

"  Original  composer  ?  " 

';  He  is,  indeed.  He  cannot  bear  to  think  of  his  songs 
being  sung  in  public." 

"  Dear  me  !  What  a  terrible  mystery  you  are  making  of 
it,"  1  laughed, 

"  O  r-really  there  is  no  abracadabra  about  it.  You 
misunderstand  me.  But  I  deserve  it  all  for  breaking 
faith  and  exploiting  his  lovely  song  so  as  to  drown  my 
beastly  singing." 

"You  need  not  reproach  yourself,"  I  said.  "  I  have 
heard  it  before." 

He  started  perceptibly.     "  Impossible,"  he  gasped. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  freezingly. 

"  But  how  ?  " 

"  A  little  bird  sang  it  me." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  making  the  mystery  now." 

"  Tit  for  tat.     But  I  will  discover  yours." 

"  Not  unless  you  are  a  witch !  " 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  witch." 

"  I  am,"  I  said  enigmatically.  "  So  you  see  it's  of  no 
use  hiding  anything  from  me.  Come,  tell  me  all,  or  I  will 
belabor  you  with  my  broomstick." 

"  If  you  know,  why  should  I  tell  you  ? " 

"  I  want  to  see  if  you  can  tell  the  truth." 

"  No,  I  can't."  We  both  laughed.  "  See  what  a  cruel 
dilemma  you  place  me  in !  "  he  said  beseechingly. 

"  Tell  me,  at  least,  why  he  won't  publish  his  songs.  Is 
he  too  modest,  too  timid  ? " 

"  Neither.     He  loves  art  for  art's  sake — that  is  all." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  He  writes  to  please  himself.     To  create  music  is  his 


TIIK  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  57 

highest  pleasure.     He  can't  see  what  it  has  got  to  do  with 
anybody  else." 

"  But  surely  he  wants  the  world  to  enjoy  his  work  ? " 

"  Why  ?  That  would  be  art  for  the  world's  sake,  art 
for  fame's  sake,  art  for  money's  sake  !  " 

"  What  an  extraordinary  view  !  " 

"  Why  so  ?  The  true  artist — the  man  to  whom  crea- 
tion is  rapture — surely  he  is  his  own  world.  Unless  he  is 
in  need  of  money,  why  should  he  concern  himself  with  the 
outside  universe  ?  My  friend  cannot  understand  why 
Schopenhauer  should  have  troubled  himself  to  chisel 
epigrams  or  Leopardi  lyrics  to  tell  people  that  life  was  not 
worth  living.  Had  either  been  a  true  artist,  he  would 
have  gone  on  living  his  own  worthless  life,  unruffled  by 
the  applause  of  the  mob.  My  friend  can  understand  a  poet 
translating  into  inspired  song  the  sacred  secrets  of  his  soul, 
but  he  cannot  understand  his  scattering  them  broad-cast 
through  the  country,  still  less  taking  a  royalty  on  them. 
He  says  it  is  selling  your  soul  in  the  market-place,  and 
almost  as  degrading  as  going  on  the  stage." 

"  And  do  you  agree  with  him  ? " 

"  Not  entirely,  otherwise  I  should  never  have  yielded  to 
the  temptation  to  sing  his  song  to-night.  Fortunately  he 
will  never  hear  of  it.  He  never  goes  into  society,  and  I 
am  his  only  friend." 

"  Dear  me ! "  I  said  sarcastically.  "  Is  he  as  careful 
to  conceal  his  body  as  his  soul  ? " 

His  face  grew  grave.  ''  He  has  an  affliction,"  he  said 
in  low  tones. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me !  "  I  said  remorsefully.  Tears  came 
into  my  eyes  as  the  vision  of  the  Norse  giant  gave  away 
to  that  of  an  English  hunchback.  My  adoring  worship 
was  transformed  to  an  adoring  matronly  tenderness. 
Divinely-gifted  sufferer,  il  I  cannot  lean  on  thy  strength, 
thou  shalt  lean  on  mine  !  So  ran  rr.y  thought  till  the  mist 


58  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

cleared  from  my  eyes  and  I  saw  again  the  glorious  Saga- 
hero  at  my  side,  and  grew  strangely  confused  and  dis- 
traught. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  answered  Captain  Athel- 
stan.  "  You  did  not  know  him.'' 

"  You  forget  I  am  a  witch.  But  I  do  not  know  him — it 
is  true.  I  do  not  even  know  his  name.  Yet  within  a 
week  I  undertake  to  become  a  friend  of  his." 

He  shook  his  head.     "  You  do  not  know  him." 

"  I  admitted  that,"  I  answered  pertly.  "  Give  me  a  week, 
and  he  shall  not  only  know  me,  he  shall  abjure  those  sub- 
lime principles  of  his  at  my  request." 

The  spirit  of  mischief  moved  me  to  throw  down  the 
•challenge.  Or  was  it  some  deeper  impulse  ? 

He  smiled  sceptically. 

"  Of  course  if  you  know  somebody  who  will  introduce 
you,"  he  began. 

"Nobody  shall  introduce  me,"  I  interrupted. 

"  Well,  he'll  never  speak  to  you  first." 

"  You  mean  it  would  be  unmaidenly  for  me  to  speak  to 
him  first.  Well,  I  will  bind  myself  to  do  nothing  of 
which  Mrs.  Grundy  would  disapprove.  And  yet  the  result 
shall  be  as  I  say." 

"  Then  I  shall  admit  you  are  indeed  a  witch." 

"  You  don't  believe  in  my  power,  that  is.  Well,  what 
will  you  wager  ?  " 

"  If  you  achieve  your  impossibility,  you  will  deserve 
anything." 

"  Will  you  back  your  incredulity  with  a  pair  of  gloves  ?  " 

"  With  a  hundred." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  not  a  Briareus.  Let  us  say  one 
pair  then." 

"  So  be  it." 

"  But  no  countermining.  Promise  me  not  to  communi- 
cate with  your  mysterious  friend  in  the  interval." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


59 


"  I  promise." 

"  But  how  shall  I  know  the  result  ?  " 

I  pondered.  "  I  will  write — no,  that  would  be  hardly 
proper.  Meet  me  in  the  Royal  Academy,  Room  Six,  at  the 
'Portrait  of  a  Gentleman,'  about  noon  to-morrow  week." 

"  A  week  is  a  long  time  !  "  he  sighed. 

I  arched  my  eyebrows.  "  A  week  a  long  time  for  such 
a  task  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

Next  day  I  called  at  the  house  of  the  Voice.  A  gor- 
geous creature  in  plush  opened  the  door. 

"  I  want  to  see — to  see — gracious  !  I've  forgotten  his 
name,"  I  said  in  patent  chagrin.  I  clucked  my  tongue, 
puckered  my  lips,  tapped  the  step  with  my  parasol,  then 
smiled  pitifully  at  the  creature  in  plush.  He  turned  out 
to  be  only  human,  for  a  responsive  sympathetic  smile 
flickered  across  his  pompous  face.  "  You  know — the 
singer,"  I  said,  as  if  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"  Oh.  Lord  Arthur  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  I  cried,  with  a  little  trill  of  laughter. 
"  How  stupid  of  me  !  Please  tell  him  I  want  to  see  him 
on  an  important  matter." 

"  He — he's  very  busy,  I'm  afraid,  miss." 

"Oh,  but  he'll  see  me,"  I  said  confidently. 

"  Yes,  miss  ;  who  shall  I  say,  miss  ? " 

"  The  Princess." 

He  made  a  startled  obeisance,  and  ushered  me  into  a 
little  room  on  the  right  of  the  hall.  In  a  few  moments  he 
returned  and  said — "  His  lordship  will  be  down  in  a  second, 
your  highness." 

Sixty  minutes  seemed  to  go  to  that  second,  so  racked 
was  I  with  curiosity.  At  last  I  heard  a  step  outside  and 
a  hand  on  the  door,  and  at  that  moment  a  horrible  thought 
flashed  into  my  mind.  What  certainty  was  there  my 
singer  was  a  hunchback?  Suppose  his  affliction  were 
something  more  loathly.  What  if  he  had  a  monstrous 


60  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

wen  !  For  the  instant  after  his  entry  I  was  afraid  to  look 
up.  When  I  did,  I  saw  a  short,  dark-haired  young  man, 
with  proper  limbs  and  refined  features.  But  his  face  wore 
a  blank  expression,  and  I  wondered  why  I  had  not  divined 
before  that  my  musician  was  blind ! 

He  bowed  and  advanced  towards  me.  He  came  straight 
in  my  direction  so  that  I  saw  he  could  see.  The  blank 
expression,  gave  place  to  one  of  inquiry. 

"  I  have  ventured  to  call  upon  your  lordship  in  refer- 
ence to  a  Charity  Concert,"  I  said  sweetly ;  "  I  am  one  of 
your  neighbors,  living  just  across  the  square,  and  as  the 
good  work  is  to  be  done  in  this  district,  I  dared  to  hope  that 
I  could  persuade  you  to  take  part  in  it." 

I  happened  to  catch  sight  of  my  face  in  the  glass  of  a 
chiffonier  as  I  spoke,  and  it  was  as  pure  and  candid  and 
beautiful  as  the  face  of  one  of  Guido's  angels.  When  I 
ceased,  I  looked  up  at  Lord  Arthur's.  It  was  spasmodi- 
cally agitated,  the  mouth  was  working  wildly.  A  nervous 
dread  seized  me. 

After  what  seemed  an  endless  interval,  he  uttered  an 
explosive  "  Put !  "  following  it  up  by  "  f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-or  two 

g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  I  interrupted  mercifully. 
"  But  I  did  not  propose  to  ask  you  for  a  subscription.  I 
wanted  to  enlist  your  services  as  a  performer.  But  I  fear 
I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  understood  you  sang."  In- 
wardly I  was  furious  with  the  stupid  creature  in  plush  for 
having  misled  me  into  such  an  unpleasant  situation. 

"  I  d-d-d-o  s-s-s-s-s "  he  answered. 

As  he  stood  there  hissing,  the  truth  flashed  upon  me  at 
last.  I  had  heard  that  the  most  dreadful  stammerers  enun- 
ciate as  easily  as  anybody  else  when  they  sing,  because  the 
measured  swing  of  the  time  keeps  them  steady.  My  heart 
sank  as  I  thought  of  the  Voice  so  mutilated  !  Poor  young 
peer !  Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  my  beautiful  visions  ? 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB.  6 1 

As  cheerfully  as  I  could  I  cut  short  his  sibilations. 
"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  then,"  I  said.  <;  Then  I  may  put 
you  down  for  a  couple  of  items." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  held  up  his  hands  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"  Anything  but  that !  "  he  stammered  ;  "  Make  me  a 
patron,  a  committee-man,  anything !  I  do  not  sing  in 
public." 

While  he  was  saying  this  I  thought  long  and  deeply. 
The  affliction  was  after  all  less  terrible  than  I  had  a  right 
to  expect,  and  I  knew  from  the  advertisement  columns  that 
it  was  easily  curable.  Demosthenes,  I  remembered,  had 
stoned  it  to  death.  I  felt  my  love  reviving,  as  I  looked 
into  his  troubled  face,  instinct  with  the  double  aristocracy 
of  rank  and  genius.  At  the  worst  the  singing  Voice  was 
unaffected  by  the  disability,  and  as  for  the  conversational, 
well  there  was  consolation  in  the  prospect  of  having  the 
last  word  while  one's  husband  was  still  having  the  first. 
En  attendant,  I  could  have  wished  him  to  sing  his  replies 
instead  of  speaking  them,  for  not  only  should  I  thus  enjoy 
his  Voice  but  the  interchange  of  ideas  would  proceed  less 
tardily.  However  that  would  have  made  him  into  an  oper- 
atic personage,  and  I  did  not  want  him  to  look  so  ridicu- 
lous as  all  that. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  recount  our  interview  at  the 
length  it  extended  to.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  gained  my 
point.  Without  letting  out  that  I  knew  of  his  theories  of 
art  for  art's  sake,  I  yet  artfully  pleaded  that  whatever  one's 
views,  charity  alters  cases,  inverts  everything,  justifies 
anything.  "  For  instance,"  I  said  with  charming  naivete, 
"  I  would  not  have  dared  to  call  on  you  but  in  its  sacred 
name."  He  agreed  to  sing  two  songs — nay,  two  of  his 
own  songs.  I  was  to  write  to  him  particulars  of  time  and 
place.  He  saw  me  to  the  door.  I  held  out  my  hand  and 
he  took  it,  and  we  looked  at  each  other,  smiling  brightly. 


.62  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  B-but  I  d-d-d-don't  know  your  n-n-name,"  he  said  sud- 
denly. "  P-p-p-rincess  what  ?  " 

He  spoke  more  fluently,  now  he  had  regained  his  com- 
posure. 

"  Princess,"  I  answered,  my  eyes  gleaming  merrily. 
"  That  is  all.  The  Honorable  Miss  Primpole  will  give 
me  a  character,  if  you  require  one."  He  laughed — his 
laugh  was  like  the  Voice — and  followed  me  with  his  eyes 
as  I  glided  away. 

I  had  won  my  gloves — and  in  a  day.  I  thought  remorse- 
fully of  the  poor  Saga  hero  destined  to  wait  a  week  in  sus- 
pense as  to  the  result.  But  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  this, 
and  the  organization  of  the  Charity  Concert  needed  all  my 
thoughts.  I  was  in  for  it  now,  and  I  resolved  to  carry  it 
through.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  as  I  had  lightly  assumed. 
Getting  the  artists,  of  course,  was  nothing — there  are  always 
so  many  professionals  out  of  work  or  anxious  to  be  brought 
out,  and  so  many  amateurs  in  search  of  amusement.  I 
could  have  filled  the  Albert  Hall  with  entertainers.  Nor 
did  I  anticipate  any  difficulty  in  disposing  of  the  tickets. 
If  you  are  at  all  popular  in  society  you  can  get  a  good  deal 
of  unpopularity  by  forcing  them  on  your  friends.  No,  the 
real  difficulty  about  this  Charity  Concert  was  the  discov- 
ery of  an  object  in  aid  of  which  to  give  it.  In  my  inno- 
cence I  had  imagined  that  the  world  was  simply  bus- 
tling with  unexploited  opportunities  for  well-doing.  Alas  ! 
I  soon  found  that  philanthropy  was  an  over-crowded  pro- 
fession. There  was  not  a  single  nook  or  corner  of  the  uni- 
verse but  had  been  ransacked  by  these  restless  free-lances  ; 
not  a  gap,  not  a  cranny  but  had  been  filled  up.  In  vain  I 
explored  the  map,  in  the  hopes  of  lighting  on  some  undis- 
covered hunting-ground  in  far  Cathay  or  where  the  khamsin 
sweeps  the  Afric  deserts.  I  found  that  the  wants  of  the 
most  benighted  savages  were  carefully  attended  to,  and 
that,  even  when  they  had  none,  they  were  thoughtfully 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  63 

supplied  with  them.  Anxiously  I  scanned  the  newspapers 
in  search  of  a  calamity,  the  sufferers  by  which  I  might  re- 
lieve, but  only  one  happened  during  that  week,  and  that 
was  snatched  from  between  my  very  fingers  by  a  lady  who 
had  just  been  through  the  Divorce  Court.  In  my  despair 
I  bethought  myself  of  the  preacher  I  sat  under.  He  was 
a  very  handsome  man,  and  published  his  sermons  by 
request. 

I  went  to  him  and  I  said  :  "  How  is  the  church  ? " 

"  It  is  all  right,  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  Doesn't  it  want  anything  done  to  it  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  in  perfect  repair.  My  congregation  is  so  very 
good." 

I  groaned  aloud.  "  But  isn't  there  any  improvement  that 
you  would  like  ? " 

"  The  last  of  the  gargoyles  was  put  up  last  week.  Me- 
diaeval architecture  is  always  so  picturesque.  I  have  had 
the  entire  structure  made  mediaeval,  you  know." 

"  But  isn't  the  outside  in  need  of  renovation  ?  " 

"  What !     When  I  have  just  had  it  made  mediaeval  !  " 

"  But  the  interior — there  must  be  something  defective 
somewhere ! " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"  But  think  !  think  !  "  I  cried  desperately.  "  The  aisles 
—  transept — nave — lectern  —  pews  —  chancel — pulpit — 
apse — porch — altar-cloths — organ — spires — is  there  noth- 
ing in  need  of  anything  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  a  colored  window  to  somebody  ?  " 

"  All  the  windows  are  taken  up.  My  congregation  is  so 
very  good." 

"  A  memorial  brass  then  ?  " 

He  mused. 

"  There  is  only  one  of  my  flock  who  has  done  anything 
memorable  lately." 


64  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

My  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of  joy.  "  Then  why  do  you 
neglect  him  ?  "  I  asked  indignantly.  "  If  we  do  not  per- 
petuate the  memory  of  virtue " 

"  He's  alive,"  he  interrupted. 

I  bit  my  lips  in  vexation. 

"  I  think  you  need  a  few  more  choristers,"  I  murmured. 

"  Oh  no,  we  are  sending  some  away." 

"  The  Sunday  School  Fund — how  is  that  ? " 

"  I  am  looking  about  for  a  good  investment  for  the  sur- 
plus. Do  you  know  of  any  ?  A  good  mortgage,  per- 
haps ? " 

"  Is  there  none  on  the  church  ?  "  I  cried  with  a  flicker 
of  hope. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  " 

I  cudgelled  my  brains  frantically. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  lightning-rod  !  " 

"  A  premier  necessity.  I  never  preach  in  a  building 
unprotected  by  one." 

I  made  one  last  wild  search. 

"  How  about  a  reredos  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  in  awful,  pained  silence. 

I  saw  I  had  stumbled.  "  I — I  mean  a  new  wing,"  I 
stammered. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well  this  morning,"  said  the 
preacher,  patting  my  hand  soothingly.  "  Won't  you  come 
and  talk  it  over,  whatever  it  is,  another  time  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  I  cried  excitedly.  "It  must  be  settled  at 
once.  I  have  it.  A  new  peal  of  bells  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  bells  ? "  he  asked  anx- 
iously. "  There  isn't  a  single  one  cracked." 

I  saw  his  dubiety,  and  profited  by  it.  I  learnt  after- 
wards it  was  due  to  his  having  no  ear  of  his  own. 

"  Cracked  !  Perhaps  not,"  I  replied  in  contemptuous 
accents.  "  But  they  deserve  to  be.  No  wonder  the  news- 
papers keep  correspondences  going  on  the  subject." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  65 

"  Yes,  but  what  correspondents  object  to  is  the  bells 
ringing  at  all." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  I  said.  "  1  don't  say  your  bells  are 
worse  than  the  majority,  or  that  I  haven't  got  a  specially 
sensitive  ear  for  music,  but  I  know  that  when  I  hear 
their  harsh  clanging,  I — well  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  go 
to  church  and  that's  the  truth.  I  am  quite  sure  if  you 
had  a  really  musical  set  of  chimes,  it  would  increase  the 
spirituality  of  the  neighborhood." 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  asked  sceptically. 

"It  would  keep  down  swearing  on  Sunday." 

"  Oh  !  "  He  pondered  a  moment,  then  said  :  "But  that 
would  be  a  great  expense." 

"  Indeed  ?     I  thought  bells  were  cheap." 

"Certainly.  Area  bells,  hand-bells,  sleigh-bells.  But 
Church-bells  are  very  costly.  There  are  only  a  few  foun- 
dries in  the  kingdom.  But  why  are  you  so  concerned 
about  my  church  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  giving  a  Charity  Concert,  and  I  should 
like  to  devote  the  proceeds  to  something." 

"  A  very  exemplary  desire.  But  I  fear  one  bell  is  the 
most  you  could  get  out  of  a  Charity  Concert." 

I  looked  disappointed.  "•  What  a  pity  !  It  would  have 
been  such  a  nice  precedent  to  improve  the  tone  of  the 
Church.  The  '  constant  readers  '  would  have  had  to  cease 
their  letters." 

"  No,  no,  impossible.  A  '  constant  reader  '  seems  to  be 
so  called  because  he  is  a  constant  writer." 

"  But  there  might  have  been  leaders  about  it." 

"  Hardly  sensational  enough  for  that !  Stay  I  have  an 
idea.  In  the  beautiful  Ages  of  Faith,  when  a  Church- 
bell  was  being  cast,  the  pious  used  to  bring  silver  vessels 
to  be  fused  with  the  bell-metal  in  the  furnace,  so  as  to 
give  the  bell  a  finer  tone.  A  mediaeval  practice  is  al- 

5 


66 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


ways  so  poetical.     Perhaps  I  could  revive  it.     My  con- 
gregation is  so  very  good." 

"  Good  !  "  I  echoed,  clapping  my  hands. 
"  But  a  Concert  will  not  suffice — we  shall  need  a  Ba- 
zaar,'' said  the  preacher. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  have  a  Concert !  " 

"  Certainly   Bazaars   in- 
clude Concerts." 

That  was  how  the  Great 
Church  Bazaar  originated 
and  how  the  Rev.  Melitos 
Smith  came  to  resurrect 
the  beautiful  mediaeval 
custom  which  brought  him 
so  much  kudos  and  ex- 
tracted such  touching  sen- 
timents from  hardened 
journalists.  The  Bazaar 
lasted  a  week,  and  raised  a 
number  of  ladies  in  the 
social  scale,  and  married 
off  three  of  my  girl-friends, 
and  cut  me  off  the  visit- 
ing list  of  the  Duchess  of 
Dash.  She  was  pining  for 
a  chance  of  coming  out  in 
a  comic  opera  chanson, 
but  this  being  a  Church 
Bazaar  I  couldn't  allow  her 
to  kick  up  her  heels.  Ev- 
erything could  be  bought  at  that  Bazaar,  from  photo- 
graphs of  the  Rev.  Melitos  Smith  to  impracticable  mouse- 
traps, from  bread-and-cheese  to  kisses.  There  were  endless 
side-shows,  and  six  gipsy  girls  scattered  about  the  rooms, 
so  that  you  could  have  your  fortune  told  in  six  different 


How  the  Duchess  -wanted 
to  appear. 


OLD  MAIDS'  CLUR.  67 

ways.  I  should  not  like  to  say  how  much  that  Bazaar  cost 
me  when  the  bill  for  the  Bells  came  in,  but  then  Lord  Arthur 
sang  daily  in  the  Concert  Hall,  and  I  could  also  deduct 
the  price  of  the  pair  of  gloves  Captain  Athelstan  gave  me. 
For  the  Captain  honorably  stood  the  loss  of  his  wager,  nay, 
more,  cheerfully  accepted  his  defeat,  and  there  on  the  spot 
— before  the  "  Portrait  of  another  Gentleman  " — offered 
to  enlist  in  the  Bazaar.  And  very  useful  he  proved,  too. 
We  had  to  be  together,  organizing  it,  nearly  all  day  and 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  him.  I 
don't  know  what  his  Regiment  did  without  him,  but  then 
I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out  when  our  gallant  officers 
do  their  work.  They  seem  always  to  be  saving  it  up  for 
a  rainy  day. 

I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life  than  when,  on 
the  last  night  of  the  Bazaar-boom,  amid  the  buzz  of  a 
brisk  wind-up,  Lord  Arthur  and  Captain  Athelstan  came 
into  the  little  presidential  sanctum,  which  had  been  run 
up  for  me,  and  requested  a  special  interview. 

"  I  can  give  you  five  minutes,"  I  said,  for  I  felt  my 
finger  was  on  the  pulse  of  the  Bazaar,  and  my  time  cor- 
respondingly important. 

They  looked  grateful,  then  embarrassed.  Captain 
Athelstan  opened  his  mouth  and  closed  it. 

"  You  had  better  tell  her,"  he  said,  nervously,  to  Lord 
Arthur. 

"  N-n-no,  y-y-y-y — 

"  What  is  it,  Captain  Athelstan  ?  "  I  interrupted,  point- 
edly, for  I  had  only  five  minutes. 

<;  Princess,  we  both  love  you,"  began  the  Captain,  blush- 
ing like  a  hobbledehoy,  and  rushing  in  medias  res.  I 
allowed  them  to  call  me  Princess,  because  it  was  not  my 
Christian  name. 

"  Is  this  the  time — when  I  am  busy  feeling  the  pulse  of 
the  Bazaar  ? " 


68  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  You  gave  us  five  minutes,"  pleaded  the  Captain,  de- 
termined to  do  or  die,  now  he  was  in  the  thick  of  it. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said,  "  I  will  forgive  you  everything — even 
your  love  of  me — if  you  are  only  brief." 

"  We  both  love  you.  We  are  great  friends.  We  have 
no  secrets.  We  told  each  other.  We  are  doubtful  if  you 
love  either — or  which.  We  have  come  together." 

He  fired  off  the  short,  sharp  sentences  as  from  a  six- 
barrelled  revolver. 

"  Captain  Athelstan — Lord  Arthur,"  I  said.  "  I  am 
deeply  touched  by  the  honor  you  have  done  your  friend- 
ship and  me.  I  will  be  equally  frank — and  brief — with 
you.  I  cannot  choose  either  of  you,  because  I  love  you 
both.  Like  every  girl,  I  formed  an  ideal  of  a  lover.  I 
have  been  fortunate  in  finding  my  ideal  in  the  flesh.  I 
have  been  unfortunate  in  finding  it  in  two  pieces.  Fate 
has  bisected  it,  and  given  the  form  to  one  and  the  voice 
to  the  other.  My  ideal  looks  like  you,  Captain  Athelstan, 
and  sings  like  you,  Lord  Arthur.  It  is  a  stupid  position, 
I  know,  and  I  feel  like  the  donkey  between  two  bundles 
of  hay.  But  under  the  circumstances  I  have  no  choice." 

They  looked  at  each  other  half-rapturously,  half-despair- 
ingly. 

"  Then  what's  to  be  done  ?  "  cried  the  Captain. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  hopelessly.  "  Love  seems  not 
only  blind,  but  a  blind  alley,  this  time." 

"  D-do  you  m-m-ean,"  asked  Lord  Arthur,  "  'how  happy 
could  I  be  with  either,  were  t'other  dear  charmer  away  ? ' ' 

I  was  glad  he  sang  it,  because  it  precipitated  matters. 

"  That  is  the  precise  position,"  I  admitted. 

"  Oh,  then,  Arthur,  my  boy,  I  congratulate  you,"  said 
the  Captain,  huskily. 

"  N-n-no,  I'll  g-g-go  away,"  said  the  singer. 

They  wrangled  for  full  ten  minutes,  but  the  position 
remained  a  block. 


THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLl'LS. 


69 


Bazaar  proposal  of  Marriage. 


7o 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLTK. 


"  Gentlemen,"  I  interposed,  "if  either  of  you  had  con- 
sented to  accept  the  other's  sacrifice,  the  problem  would 
have  been  solved  ;  only  I  should  have  taken  the  other. 
But  two  self-sacrifices  are  as  bad  as  none." 

"  Then  let  us.  toss  up  for  you,  Princess,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain, impulsively. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  I  cried,  with  a  shudder.  "  Submit  my  life 
to  the  chances  of  head  or  tail !  It  would  make  me 
feel  like  a  murderess,  with  you  for  gentlemen  of  the 
jury.?) 

A  painful  silence  fell  upon  the  sanctum.  Unwitting  of 
the  tragedy  playing  within,  all  the  fun  of  the  fair  went  on 
without. 

"  Listen,"  I  said,  at  last.  "  I  will  be  the  wife  of  him 
who  wins  me.  Chance  shall  not  decide,  but  prowess. 
Like  the  princesses  of  old,  I  will  set  you  a  task.  Who- 
ever accomplishes  it  shall  win  my  hand." 

"Agreed,"  they  said  eagerly,  though  not  simultaneously. 

"  Ay,  but  what  shall  it  be  ?  "  I  murmured. 

"  Why  not  a  competition  ?  "  suggested  the  Captain. 

"  Very  well,  a  competition — provided  you  promise  to 
fight  fair,  and  not  play  into  each  other's  hands." 

They  promised,  and  together  we  excogitated  and  re- 
jected all  sorts  of  competitions.  The  difficulty  was  to 
find  something  in  which  each  would  have  a  fair  chance. 
At  length  we  arranged  that  they  should  play  a  game  of 
chess,  the  winner  to  be  mated.  They  agreed  it  would  be 
a  real  "  match  game."  The  five  minutes  had  by  this  time 
lasted  half  an  hour,  so  I  dismissed  them,  and  hastened  to 
feel  the  pulse  of  the  Bazaar,  which  was  getting  more  and 
more  feverish  as  the  break-up  drew  nigh. 

They  played  the  game  in  Lord  Arthur's  study.  Lord 
Arthur  was  white  and  the  Captain  black.  Everything  was 
fair  and  above  board.  But  they  played  rather  slowly. 
Every  evening  I  sent  the  butler  over  to  make  inquiries. 


TJI1-:  OJ.D  MAIDS'  CLl'K. 


71 


"The  Princess's  compliments,"  he  was  told  to  say, 
"  and  how  is  it  to-day  ?  " 

"  It  is  getting  on,"  they  told  him,  and  he  came  back 
with  a  glad  face.  He  was  a  kind  soul  despite  his  calves, 
and  he  thought  there  was  a  child  dying. 

Once  a  week  I  used  to  go  over  and  look  at  it.  Osten- 
sibly I  called  in  connection  with  the  Bazaar  accounts.  I 
could  not  see  any  difference  in  the  position  from  one 
week's  end  to  another.  There  seemed  to  be  a  clump  of 
pawns  in  the  middle,  with  all  the  other  pieces  looking  idly 
on  ;  there  was  no  thoroughfare  anywhere. 

They  told  me  it  always  came  like  that  when  you  played 
cautiously.  They  said  it  was  a  French  opening.  I  could 
not  see  any  opening  anywhere  ;  it  certainly  was  not  the 
English  way  of  fighting.  Picture  my  suspense  during  those 
horrible  weeks. 

"  Is  this  the  way  all  match-games  are  played?  "  I  said 
once. 

"  N-n-o,"  admitted  Lord  Arthur.  "  We  for-g-g-ot  to 
p-p-p-ut  a  t-t-t-t-t-time-limit." 

"  What's  the  time-limit  ?  "  I  asked  the  Captain,  wish- 
ing my  singer  could  learn  to  put  one  to  his  sentences. 

"  So  many  moves  must  be  made  in  an  hour — usually 
fifteen.  Otherwise  the  younger  champion  would  always 
win,  merely  by  outliving  the  elder.  We  forgot  to  include 
that  condition." 

At  length  our  butler  brought  back  word  that  "  it  couldn't 
last  much  longer."  His  face  was  grave  and  he  gave  the 
message  in  low  tones. 

"  What  a  blessing.  It's  been  lingering  long  enough  ! 
I  wish  they  would  polish  it  off,"  I  murmured  fretfully. 
After  that  I  frequently  caught  him  looking  at  me  as  if  I 
were  Lucrezia  Borgia. 

The  end  came  suddenly.  The  butler  went  across  to  make 
the  usual  inquiry.  He  returned,  with  a  foolish  face  of 


72  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

horror  and  whispered,  "  It  is  all  over.  It  has  been  drawn 
by  perpetual  check  !  " 

"  Great  Heavens  !  "  I  cried.  My  consternation  was 
so  manifest  that  he  forgave  the  utterance  of  a  peevish 
moment.  I  put  on  my  nicest  hat  at  once  and  went  over. 
We  held  a  council  of  war  afresh. 

"  Let's  go  by  who  catches  the  biggest  trout,"  suggested 
the  Captain. 

"  No,"  I  said.  "  I  will  not  be  angled  for.  Besides,  the 
biggest  is  not  grammatical.  It  should  be  the  bigger." 

Thus  reproved,  the  Captain  grew  silent  and  we  came 
to  a  deadlock  once  more.  I  gave  up  the  hunt  at  last. 

"  I  think  the  best  plan  will  be  for  you  both  to  go  away 
and  travel.  Go  round  the  world,  see  fresh  faces,  try  to  for- 
get me.  One  of  you  will  succeed." 

"  But  suppose  we  both  succeed  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

"  That  would  be  more  awkward  than  ever,"  I  admitted. 

"  And  if  neither  succeed  ?  "  asked  Lord  Arthur  at  some 
Jength. 

"  I  should  say  neither  succeeds,"  I  remarked  severely. 
"  Neither  takes  a  singular  verb." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Lord  Arthur  with  some  spirit.  The 
plurality  is  merely  apparent.  '  Succeed  '  is  subjunctive 
after  if." 

"  Ah,  true,"  I  said.  "  Then  suppose  you  go  round  the 
world  and  I  give  my  hand  to  whoever  comes  back  and 
proposes  to  me  first." 

"  Something  like  the  man  in  Jules  Verne  !  "  cried  the 
Captain.  "  Glorious  !  " 

"  Except  that  it  can  be  done  quicker  now,"  I  said. 

Lord  Arthur  fell  in  joyously  with  the  idea,  which  was  a 
godsend  to  me,  for  the  worry  of  having  about  you  two 
men  whom  you  love  and  who  love  you  cannot  be  easily 
conceived  by  those  who  have  not  been  through  it.  They, 
too,  were  pining  away  and  felt  the  journey  would  do  them 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


73 


good.  Captain  Athelstan  applied  for  three  months'  fur- 
lough. He  was  to  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth  from  West 
to  East,  Lord  Arthur  from  East  to  West.  It  was  thought 
this  would  work  fairly — as  whatever  advantages  one  out- 
going route  had  over  the  other  would  be  lost  on  the  return. 
Each  drew  up  his  scheme  and  prepared  his  equipment. 
The  starting-point  was  to  be  my  house,  and  consequently 
this  was  also  the  goal.  After  forty-eight  days  had  passed 
(the  minimum  time  possible)  I  was  to  remain  at  home  day 
and  night,  awaiting  the  telegram  which  was  to  be  sent  the 
moment  either  touched  English  soil  again.  On  the  receipt 
of  the  telegram  I  was  to  take  up  my  position  at  the  front 
window  on  the  ground  floor,  with  a  white  rose  in  my  hair 
to  show  I  was  still  unwon,  and  to  wait  there  day  and  night 
for  the  arrival  of  my  offer  of  marriage,  which  I  was  not 
to  have  the  option  of  refusing.  During  the  race  they  were 
not  to  write  to  me. 

The  long-looked-for  day  of  their  departure  duly  arrived. 
Two  hansoms  were  drawn  up  side  by  side,  in  front  of  the 
house.  A  white  rose  in  my  hair,  I  sat  at  the  window.  A 
parting  smile,  a  wave  of  my  handkerchief,  and  my  lovers 
were  off.  In  an  instant  they  were  out  of  sight.  For  a 
month  they  were  out  of  mind,  too.  After  the  exhausting 
emotions  I  had  undergone  this  period  of  my  life  was  truly 
halcyon.  I  banished  my  lovers  from  my  memory  and  en- 
joyed what  was  left  of  the  season  and  of  my  girlish  free- 
dom. In  two  months  I  should  be  an  affianced  wife  and 
it  behoved  me  to  make  the  best  of  my  short  span  of  spin- 
sterhood.  The  season  waned,  fashion  drifted  to  Cowes, 
I  was  left  alone  in  empty  London.  Then  my  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  two  travellers.  As  day  followed  day, 
my  anxiety  and  curiosity  mounted  proportionately.  The 
forty-eight  days  went  by,  but  there  was  no  wire.  They 
passed  slowly — oh,  so  slowly — into  fifty,  while  I  waited, 
waited,  from  dawn  to  midnight,  with  ears  pricked  up,  for 


74 


yy/y-;  ou)  MA  JDS' 


that  double  rat-tat  which  came  not  or  which  came  about 
something  else.  The  sands  of  September  dribbled  out, 
and  my  fate  still  hung  in  the  balance.  I  went  about  the 
house  like  an  unquiet  spirit.  In  imagination  I  was  seeing 
those  two  men  sweeping  towards  me — one  from  the  East 
of  the  world,  one  from  the  West.  And  there  I  stood,  rooted 
to  the  spot,  while  from  either  side  a  man  was  speeding  in- 
evitably towards  me,  across  oceans  and  continents,  through 
canals  and  tunnels,  along  deserts  or  rivers,  pressing  into 
his  service  every  human  and  animal  force  and  every  blind 
energy  that  man  had  tamed.  To  my  fevered  imagination 
I  seemed  to  be  between  the  jaws  of  a  leviathan,  which 
were  closing  upon  me  at  a  terrific  rate,  yet  which  took  days 
to  snap  together,  so  wide  were  they  apart,  so  gigantic  was 
the  monster.  Which  of  the  jaws  would  touch  me  first  ? 
The  fifties  mounted  into  the  sixties,  but  there  was  no 
telegram.  The  tension  became  intolerable.  Again  and 
again  I  felt  tempted  to  fly,  but  a  lingering  sense  of  honor 
kept  me  to  my  post.  On  the  sixty-first  day  my  patience 
was  rewarded.  Sitting  at  my  window  one  morning  I 
saw  a  telegraph-boy  sauntering  along.  He  reached  the 
gate.  He  paused.  I  rushed  to  the  door  and  down  the  steps, 
seized  the  envelope  and  tore  it  frantically  open. 

"  Coming,  but  suppose  all  over. — ARTHUR." 

I  leaned  on  the  gate,  half  fainting.  When  I  went  to  my 
room,  I  read  the  wire  again  and  noted  it  had  been  handed 
in  at  Liverpool.  In  four  or  five  hours  at  most  I  should 
cease  to  belong  to  myself.  I  communicated  the  news  to  the 
Honorable  Miss  Primpole  who  congratulated  me  cordially. 
She  made  no  secret  of  her  joy  that  the  nobleman  had 
won.  For  my  part  I  was  still  torn  with  conflicting  emotions. 
Now  that  I  knew  it  was  to  be  the  one,  I  hankered  after 
the  other.  Yet  in  the  heart  of  the  storm  there  was  peace 


771E  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  75 

in  the  thought  that  the  long  suspense  was  over.  I 
ordered  a  magnificent  repast  to  be  laid  for  the  home- 
coming voyager,  which  would  also  serve  to  celebrate  our 
nuptials.  The  Honorable  Miss  Primpole  consented  to 
grace  the  board  and  the  butler  to  surrender  the  choicest 
vintages  garnered  in  my  father's  cellar. 

Two  hours  and  a  half  dragged  by  ;  then  there  came 
another  wire — I  opened  it  with  some  curiosity,  but  as  my 
eye  caught  the  words  I  almost  swooned  with  excitement. 
It  ran : 

"  Arrived,  but  presume  too  late. — ATHELSTAN." 

With  misty  vision  I  strove  to  read  the  place  of  despatch. 
It  was  Dover.  A  great  wave  of  hope  surged  in  my  bosom. 
My  Saga-hero  might  yet  arrive  in  time.  Half  frenziedly  I 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  Bradshaw.  No,  after  sending 
that  wire,  he  would  just  have  missed  the  train  to  Vic- 
toria !  Cruel  !  Cruel  !  But  stay !  there  was  another 
route.  He  might  have  booked  for  Charing  Cross.  Yes  ! 
Heaven  be  praised,  if  he  did  that,  he  would  just  catch  a 
train.  And  of  course  he  would  do  that — surely  he  would 
have  planned  out  every  possibility  while  crossing  the 
Channel,  have  arranged  for  all — my  Captain,  my  blue-eyed 
Berserker  !  But  then  Lord  Arthur  had  had  two  and  a 
half  hours'  start. — I  turned  to  Liverpool  and  essayed  to 
discover  whether  that  was  sufficient  to  balance  the  differ- 
ence of  the  two  distances  from  London.  Alas  !  my  head 
swam  before  I  had  travelled  two  stations.  There  were 
no  less  than  four  routes  to  Euston,  to  St.  Pancras,  to 
King's  Cross,  to  Paddington  !  Still  I  made  out  that  if 
he  had  kept  his  head  very  clear,  and  been  very,  very  for- 
tunate, he  might  just  get  level  with  the  Captain.  But 
then  on  a  longer  route  the  chances  of  accidental  delays 
were  more  numerous.  On  the  whole  the  odds  were 
decidedly  in  favor  of  the  Captain.  But  one  thing  was 


j6  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

certain — that  they  would  both  arrive  in  time  for  supper. 
I  ordered  an  additional  cover  to  be  laid,  then  I  threw  my- 
self upon  a  couch  and  tried  to  read.  But  I  could  not. 
Terrible  as  was  the  strain,  my  thoughts  refused  to  be  dis- 
tracted. The  minutes  crawled  along — gradually  peace 
came  back  as  I  concluded  that  only  by  a  miracle  could 
Lord  Arthur  win.  At  last  I  jumped  up  with  a  start,  for 
the  shades  of  evening  were  falling  and  my  toilette  was 
yet  to  make.  I  dressed  myself  in  a  dainty  robe  of  white, 
trimmed  with  sprays  of  wild  flowers,  and  I  stuck  the  white 
rose  in  my  hair — the  symbol  that  I  was  yet  unasked  in 
wedlock,  the  white  star  of  hope  to  the  way-worn  wanderer ! 
I  did  my  best  to  be  the  fairest  sight  the  travellers  should 
have  seen  in  all  the  world. 

The  Honorable  Miss  Primpole  started  when  she  saw 
me.  "  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself,  Princess  ?  " 
she  said.  "  You're  lovelier  than  I  ever  dreamed." 

And  indeed  the  crisis  had  lent  a  flush  to  my  cheek  and 
a  flash  to  my  eye  which  I  would  not  willingly  repay. 
My  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  excitement.  In  half  an  hour 
I  should  be  in  my  Saga-hero's  arms  !  I  went  down  to  the 
ground-floor  front  and  seated  myself  at  the  open  window 
and  gazed  at  the  Square  and  the  fiery  streaks  of  sunset  in 
the  sky.  The  Honorable  Miss  Primpole  lay  upon  an  otto- 
man, less  excited.  Every  now  and  again  she  asked, 

"  Do  you  see  anything,  Princess  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered. 

Of  course  she  did  not  take  my  answer  literally.  Sev- 
eral times  cabs  and  carriages  rattled  past  the  window, 
but  with  no  visible  intention  of  drawing  up.  Duskier, 
duskier  grew  the  September  evening,  as  I  sat  peering  into 
the  twilight. 

"  Do  you  see  anything,  Princess  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

A  moment  after  a  hansom  came  dashing  into  sight — a 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  77 

head  protruded  from  it.  I  uttered  a  cry  and  leant  forward, 
straining  my  eyes.  Captain  Athelstan.  Yes!  No!  No! 
Yes !  No !  No  I  Will  it  be  believed  that  (such  is  the 
heart  of  woman)  I  felt  a  sensation  of  relief  on  finding  the 
issue  still  postponed  ?  For  in  the  moment  when  the  Cap- 
tain seemed  to  flash  upon  my  vision — it  was  borne  in 
upon  me  like  a  chilling  blast  that  I  had  lost  my  Voice. 
Never  would  that  glorious  music  swell  for  me  as  I  sat 
alone  with  my  husband  in  the  gloaming. 

The  streaks  of  sunset  faded  into  gray  ashes. 

"  Do  you  see  anything,  Princess  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

Even  as  I  spoke  I  heard  the  gallop  of  hoofs  in  the 
quiet  Square,  and,  half  paralyzed  by  the  unexpected  vision, 
I  saw  Lord  Arthur  dashing  furiously  up  on  horseback — 
Lord  Arthur,  bronzed  and  bearded  and  travel-stained,  but 
Lord  Arthur  beyond  a  doubt.  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
waved  it  frantically  in  the  air  when  he  caught  sight  of  my 
white  figure,  with  the  white  rose  of  promise  nestling  in  my 
hair.  My  poor  Saga-hero  ! 

He  reined  in  his  beautiful  steed  before  my  window  and 
commenced  his  proposal  breathlessly. 

"  W-w-w " 

Even  Mr.  Gladstone,  if  he  had  been  racing  as  madly 
as  Lord  Arthur  might  well  have  been  flustered  in  his 
speech.  The  poor  singer  could  not  get  out  the  first  word, 
try  as  he  would.  At  last  it  came  out  like  a  soda-water 
cork  and  ' you  '  with  it.  But  at  the  '  be  '  there  was — O 
dire  to  tell !— another  stoppage. 

"  B-b-b-b-b " 

"  Fire  !  Fire  !  Hooray  !  "  The  dull  roar  of  an  advancing 
crowd  burst  suddenly  upon  our  ears,  mingled  with  the 
piercing  exultation  of  small  boys.  The  thunderous  clat- 
ter of  the  fire-engine  seemed  to  rock  the  soil  of  the  Square. 

But  neither  of  us  took  eyes  off  the  other. 


78  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

"  Be  !  "  It  was  out  at  last.  The  end  was  near.  In 
another  second  I  should  say  "  Yes." 

"  Fire  !  Fire  !  "  shrieked  the  small  boys. 

"  M-m-m-y " 

Lord  Arthur's  gallant  steed  shifted  uneasily.  The  fire- 
engine  was  thundering  down  upon  it. 

"  W-w-w " 

"  Will  you  be "  The  clarion  notes  of  the  Captain 

rang  out  above  the  clatter  of  the  fire-engine  from  which  he 
madly  jumped. 

"  Wife  ?  "  ) 

',-  the  two  travellers  exclaimed  together. 

"Mfat") 

"  Dead  heat,"  I  murmured,  and  fell  back  in  a  dead  faint. 
My  overwrought  nerves  could  stand  no  more. 

******* 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  gay  supper-party  ;  the  air  was 
thick  with  travellers'  tales,  and  the  butler  did  not  spare  the 
champagne.  We  could  not  help  being  tickled  by  the 
quaint  termination  of  the  colossal  globe-trotting  competi- 
tion, and  we  soothed  Lord  Arthur's  susceptibilities  by  in- 
sisting that  if  he  had  only  remembered  the  shorter  pro- 
posal formula  employed  by  his  rival,  he  would  have  won 
by  a  word.  It  was  a  pure  fluke  that  the  Captain  was  able 
to  tie,  for  he  had  not  thought  of  telegraphing  for  a  horse, 
but  had  taken  a  hansom  at  the  station,  and  only  exchanged 
to  the  fire-engine  when  he  heard  people  shouting  there  was 
a  fire  in  Seymour  Street.  Lord  Arthur  obliged  five  times 
during  the  evening,  and  the  Honorable  Miss  Primpole  re- 
laxed more  than  ever  before  and  accompanied  him  on  the 
banjo.  Before  we  parted,  I  had  been  persuaded  by  my 
lovers  to  give  them  one  last  trial.  That  night  three  months 
I  was  to  give  another  magnificent  repast,  to  which  they 
were  both  to  be  invited.  During  the  interval  each  was  to 
do  his  best  to  become  famous,  and  at  the  supper-party  I 
was  to  choose  the  one  who  was  the  more  widely  known 


TUL  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


79 


^4/  the  winning  Post, 


77/7-;  OLD  MAJDS'  CLUB. 


throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  kingdom.  They 
were  to  place  before  me  what  proofs  and  arguments  they 
pleased,  and  I  was  to  decide  whose  name  had  penetrated 
to  the  greater  number  of  people.  There  was  to  be  no 
appeal  from  my  decision,  nor  any  limitation  to  what  the 
candidates  might  do  to  force  themselves  upon  the  univer- 
sal consciousness,  so 

.  long     as    they    did 

not  merely  advertise 
themselves  at  so 
much  a  column  or 
poster.  They  could 
safely  be  trusted 
not  to  do  any U ling 
infamous  in  the  at- 
tempt to  become  fa- 
mous, and  so  there 
was  no  need  to  im- 
pose conditions.  I 
had  a  secret  hope 
that  Lord  Arthui 
might  thus  be  in- 
duced to  bring  his 
talents  before  the 
world  and  get  over 
his  objection  to  the 
degradation  of  pub- 
lic appearances.  My 
hope  was  more  than 
justified. 

I  grieve  to  say  neither  strove  to  benefit  his  kind.  His 
lordship  went  on  the  music-hall  stage,  made  up  as  a  cos- 
termonger,  and  devoted  his  wonderful  voice  and  his  musi- 
cal genius  to  singing  a  cockney  ballad  with  a  chorus  con- 
sisting merely  of  the  words  "  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee  "  re- 


Ba,  bat  ba,  boodle-dee" 


THE  OLD  JA-//AV  c/.r/>.  81 

peated  sixteen  times.  It  caught  on  like  a  first-class  epi- 
demic. "  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee "  microbes  floated  in 
every  breeze.  The  cholera-chorus  raged  from  Piccadilly 
to  Land's  End,  from  Kensington  to  John  o'  Groats.  The 
swarthy  miners  hewed  the  coal  to  it.  It  dropped  from 
passing  balloons,  the  sailors  manned  the  capstan  to  it,  and 
the  sound  of  it  superseded  fog-horns.  Duchesses  danced 
to  it,  and  squalid  infants  cried  for  it.  Divines  with  diffi- 
culty kept  it  out  of  their  sermons,  philosophers  drew 
weighty  lessons  from  it,  critics  traced  its  history,  and  as 
it  didn't  mean  anything  the  greatest  Puritans  hummed  it 
inaccurately.  "Ba, ba,  ba,  boodle-dee," sang  Lord  Arthur 
nightly  at  six  halls  and  three  theatres,  incidentally  clear- 
ing off  all  the  debts  on  the  family  estates,  and,  like  a  flock 
of  sheep,  the  great  British  public  took  up  the  bleat,  and  in 
every  hall  and  drawing-room  blossomed  the  big  pearl 
buttons  of  the  cockney  costermonger. 

But  Captain  Athelstan  came  to  the  front  far  more  easily, 
if  less  profitably.  He  sent  a  testimonial  to  the  Perfect 
Cure  Elixir.  The  Elixir  was  accustomed  to  testimonials 
from  the  suffering  millions.  The  spelling  generally  had  to 
be  corrected  before  they  were  fit  for  publication.  It  also 
received  testimonials  which  were  useless,  such  as  :  "I 
took  only  one  bottle  of  your  Elixir  and  I  got  fourteen 
days."  But  a  testimonial  from  a  Captain  of  the  Guards 
was  a  gold-mine.  The  Captain's  was  the  best  name  the 
Elixir  had  ever  had,  and  he  had  enjoyed  more  diseases  than 
it  had  hitherto  professed  to  cure.  Astonished  by  its  own 
success  the  Elixir  resolved  to  make  a  big  spurt  and  kill  off 
all  its  rivals.  For  the  next  few  months  Captain  Athelstan 
was  rammed  down  the  throats  of  all  England.  He  came 
with  the  morning  milk  in  all  the  daily  papers,  he  arrived  by 
the  first  post  in  a  circular,  he  stared  at  people  from  every 
dead  wall  when  they  went  out  to  business,  he  was  with 
them  at  lunch,  in  little  plaques  and  placards  in  every 

6 


82      .  Till-:  OLD  MA  IDS'  CLUB. 

restaurant,  he  nodded  at  them  in  every  bar,  rode  with 
them  in  every  train  and  tram-car,  either  on  the  wall  or  on 
the  back  of  the  ticket,  joined  them  at  dinner  in  the  even- 
ing papers  and  supplied  the  pipe  lights  after  the  meal. 
You  took  up  a  -magazine  and  found  he  had  slipped 
between  the  sheets,  you  went  to  bed  and  his  diseased 
figure  haunted  your  dreams.  Life  lost  its  sweetness,  liter- 
ature its  charm.  The  loathsome  phantasm  of  the  com- 
plexly-afflicted Captain  got  between  you  and  the  sunshine. 
Stiff  examination  papers  (compiled  from  the  Captain) 
were  set  at  every  breakfast-table,  and  you  were  sternly 
interrogated  as  to  whether  you  felt  an  all-gone  sensation 
at  the  tip  of  your  nose,  and  you  were  earnestly  adjured  to 
look  at  your  old  diseases.  You  began  to  read  an  eloquent 
description  of  the  Alps,  and  lo !  there  was  the  Captain 
perched  on  top.  You  started  a  thrilling  story  of  the  sea, 
and  the  Captain  bobbed  up  from  the  bottom  ;  you  began 
a  poetical  allegory  concerning  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow, 
and  you  found  the  Captain  had  been  living  there  all  his 
life — till  he  came  upon  the  Elixir.  A  little  innocent 
child  remarked,  "  Pater,  it  is  almost  bath-time,"  and  you 
felt  for  your  handkerchief  in  view  of  a  touching  domestic 
idyl,  but  the  Captain  froze  your  tears.  '•  Why  have  sun- 
stroke in  India  ?  "  .you  were  asked,  and  the  Captain  sup- 
plied the  answer.  Something  came  like  a  thief  in  the 
night  It  was  the  Captain.  You  were  startled  to  see 
that  there  was  "  A  Blight  Over  All  Creation,"  but  it 
turned  out  to  be  only  the  Captain.  Everything  abutted 
on  the  Captain — Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses, 
the  Venus  of  Milo  and  the  Mikado,  Day  and  Night  and 
all  the  seasons,  the  potato  harvest  and  the  Durham  Coal 
Strike,  the  advantages  of  early  rising,  and  the  American 
Copyright  Act.  He  was  at  the  bottom  of  every  passage, 
he  lurked  in  every  avenue,  he  was  at  the  end  of  every 
perspective.  The  whole  world  was  familiar  with  his 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  83 

physical  symptoms,  and  his  sad  history.  The  exploits  of 
Julius  Caesar  were  but  a  blur  in  the  common  mind,  but 
everybody  knew  that  the  Captain's  skin  grew  Gobelin  blue, 
that  the  whites  of  his  eyes  turned  green,  and  his  tongue 
stuck  in  his  cheek,  and  that  the  rest  of  his  organism 
behaved  with  corresponding  gruesomeness.  Everybody 
knew  how  they  dropped  off,  "  petrified  by  my  breath,"  and 
how  his  sympathetic  friends  told  him  in  large  capitals 

"  YOU    WILL  NEVER    GET  BETTER,  CAPTAIN," 

and  how  his  weeping  mother,  anxious  to  soothe  his  last 
hours,  remarked  in  reply  to  a  request  for  another  box  of 
somebody  else's  pills, 

'•  THE  ONLY  BOX  YOU'LL  EVER  WANT  WILL  BE  A  COFFIN," 
and  how 

"  HE   THOUGHT    IT   WAS    ONLY    CHOLERA,'* 

but  how  one  dose  of  the  Elixir  (which  new-born  babies 
clamored  for  in  preference  to  their  mother's  milk)  had 
baffled  all  their  prognostications  and  made  him  a  celebrity 
for  life.  In  private  the  Captain  said  that  he  really  had 
these  ailments,  though  he  only  discovered  the  fact  when 
he  read  the  advertisements  of  the  Elixir.  But  the  Mess 
had  an  inkling  that  it  was  all  done  for  a  wager,  and  chris- 
tened him  "  The  Perfect  Cure."  To  me  he  justified  him- 
self on  the  ground  that  he  had  scrupulously  described 
himself  as  having  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  and  that  he 
really  suffered  from  love-sickness,  which  was  worse  than 
all  the  ills  the  Elixir  cured. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  I  was  shocked  by  my  lovers' 
practical  methods  of  acquiring  that  renown  for  which  so 
many  gifted  souls  have  yearned  in  vain,  though  I  must 
admit  that  both  gentlemen  retained  sufficient  sense  of 
decorum  to  be  revolted  by  the  other's  course  of  action. 


84  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

They  remonstrated  with  each  other  gently  but  firmly. 
The  result  was  that  their  friendship  snapped  and  a  week 
before  the  close  of  the  competition  they  crossed  the  Chan- 
nel to  fight  a  duel.  I  got  to  hear  of  it  in  time  and  wired 
to  Boulogne  that  if  they  killed  each  other  I  would  marry 
neither,  that  if  only  one  survived  I  would  never  marry  my 
lover's  murderer,  and  that  a  duel  excited  so  much  gossip 
that,  if  both  survived,  they  would  be  equally  famous  and 
the  competition  again  a  failure. 

These  simple  considerations  prevented  any  mishap. 
The  Captain  returned  to  his  Regiment  and  Lord  Arthur 
went  on  to  the  Riviera  to  while  away  the  few  remaining 
days  and  to  get  extra  advertisement  out  of  not  appearing 
at  his  halls  through  indisposition.  At  Monte  Carlo  he 
accidentally  broke  the  bank,  and  explained  his  system  to 
the  interviewers.  To  my  chagrin,  for  I  was  tired  of  see- 
sawing, this  brought  him  level  with  the  Captain  again.  I 
had  been  prepared  to  adjudicate  in  favour  of  the  latter, 
on  the  ground  that  although  "  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee  " 
was  better  known  than  the  Patent  Cure  Elixir,  yet  the 
originator  of  the  song  remained  unknown  to  many  to 
whom  the  Captain  was  a  household  word,  and  this  in 
despite  of  the  extra  attention  secured  to  Lord  Arthur  by 
his  rank.  The  second  supper-party  was  again  sicklied 
over  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought. 

u  No  more  competitions  !"  I  said.  "  You  seem  destined 
to  tie  with  each  other  instead  of  with  me.  I  will  return 
to  my  original  idea.  I  will  give  you  a  task  which  it  is  not 
likely  both  will  perform.  I  will  marry  the  man  who  asks 
me,  provided  he  comes,  neither  walking  nor  riding,  neither 
sailing  nor  driving,  neither  skating  nor  sliding  nor  flying, 
neither  by  boat  nor  by  balloon  nor  by  bicycle,  neither  by 
swimming  nor  by  floating  nor  by  anybody  carrying  or  drag- 
ging or  pushing  him,  neither  by  any  movement  of  hand 
or  foot  nor  by  any  extraordinary  method  whatever.  Till 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  85 

this  is  achieved  neither  of  you  must  look  upon  my  face 
again.'' 

"  They  looked  aghast  when  I  set  the  task.  They  went 
away  and  I  have  not  seen  them  from  that  day  to  this.  I 
shall  never  marry  now.  So  I  may  as  well  devote  myself 
to  the  cause  of  the  Old  Maids  you  are  so  nobly  champion- 
ing." She  rolled  up  the  MS. 

"  But,"  said  Lillie  excitedly,  breaking  in  for  the  first 
time,  "  what  is  the  way  you  want  them  to  come  ? " 

The  Princess  laughed  a  silvery  laugh. 

"  No  way.  Don't  you  understand  ?  It  was  a  roundabout 
way  of  saying  I  was  tired  of  them." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Lillie. 

"  You  see,  I  got  the  idea  from  a  fairy-tale,"  said  the 
Princess.  "  There,  the  doer  evaded  the  conditions  by  be- 
ing dragged  at  a  horse's  tail — I  have  guarded  against  this, 
so  that  now  the  thing  is  impossible."  Again  her  mischiev- 
ous laughter  rang  out  through  the  misanthropic  room. 

Lillie  smiled,  too.  She  felt  certain  Lord  Silverdale  would 
find  no  flaw  in  the  Princess's  armor,  and  she  was  exultant 
at  so  auspicious  an  accession.  For  the  sake  of  formality, 
however,  she  told  her  that  she  would  communicate  her 
election  by  letter. 

The  next  day  a  telegram  came  to  the  Club. 

"  Compelled  to  withdraw  candidature.  Feat  accomplished. 
PRINCESS,  HOTEL  METROPOLE,  BRIGHTON." 

Equally  aghast  and  excited,  Lillie  wired  back,  "  How  1 " 
and  prepaid  the  reply. 

"  Lover  happened  to  be  here.  Came  up  in  lift  as  I  was 
waiting  to  go  down." 

Still  intensely  piqued  by  curiosity  and  vexation,  Lillie 
telegraphed. 

"  Which  ?  " 

"  Leave  you  to  guess"  answered  the  electric  current. 


86  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  GRAMMAR  OF  LOVE. 

THE  Moon-man's  name  was  Wilkins,  and  he  did  nine- 
tenths  of  the  interviews  in  that  model  of  the  new  journal- 
ism. Wilkins  was  the  man  to  catch  the  weasel  asleep,  hit 
off  his  features  with  a  kodak,  and  badger  him  the  moment 
he  awoke  as  to  why  he  popped.  Wilkins  lived  in  a  flat 
in  Chancery  Lane,  and  had  his  whiskey  and  his  feet  on  the 
table  when  Silverdale  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  in  the 
gloaming. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  Wilkins  gruffly. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,"  said  Silver- 
dale  politely. 

"  But  1  don't  know  you,  sir,"  said  Wilkins  stiffly. 
"  Don't  you  see  I'm  busy? " 

"  It  is  true  I  am  a  stranger,  but  remember,  sir,  I  shall 
not  be  so  when  I  leave.  I  just  want  to  interview  you 
about  that  paragraph  in  the  Moon,  stating — 

"  Look  here  !  "  roared  Wilkins,  letting  his  feet  slide  from 
the  table  with  a  crash.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  I  have  no 
time  to  listen  to  your  impertinence.  My  leisure  is  scant 
and  valuable.  I  am  a  hard-worked  man.  I  can't  be  pes- 
tered with  questions  from  inquisitive  busybodies.  What 
next,  sir  ?  What  I  write  in  the  Moon  is  my  business  and 
nobody  else's.  Damn  it  all,  sir,  is  there  to  be  nothing 
private  ?  Are  you  going  to  poke  and  pry  into  the  concerns 
of  the  very  journalist  ?  No,  sir,  you  have  wasted  your 
time  as  well  as  mine.  We  never  allow  the  public  to  go 
behind  what  appears  in  our  paper." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  87 

"  But  this  is  a  mere  private  curiosity — what  you  tell  me 
shall  never  be  published." 

"  If  it  could  be,  I  wouldn't  tell  it  you.  I  never  waste 
copy." 

"  Tell  me — I  am  willing  to  pay  for  the  information — who 
wrote  the  paragraph  about  Clorinda  Bell  and  the  Old 
Maids'  Club." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  roared  Wilkins. 

"  I  thought  you  would  know  more  than  he,"  said  Silver- 
dale,  and  left.  Wilkins  came  downstairs  on  his  heels, 
in  a  huff,  and  walked  towards  Ludgate  Hill.  Silverdale 
thought  he  would  have  another  shot,  and  followed  him  un- 
seen. The  two  men  jumped  into  a  train,  and  after  an  end- 
less-seeming journey  arrived  at  the  Crystal  Palace.  A 
monster  balloon  was  going  off  from  the  grounds.  Herr 
Xickeldorf,  the  great  aeronaut,  was  making  in  solitude  an 
experimental  night  excursion  to  Calais,  as  if  anxious  to 
meet  his  fate  by  moonlight  alone.  Wilkins  rushed  up  to 
Xickeldorf,  who  was  standing  among  the  ropes  giving 
directions. 

"  Go  avay  !  "  said  Nickeldorf,  when  he  saw  him.  "  I  hafe 
nodings  to  say  to  you.  You  makes  me  schwitzen."  He 
jumped  into  the  car  and  bade  the  men  let  go. 

Ordinarily  Wilkins  would  have  been  satisfied  with  this 
ample  material  for  half  a  column,  but  he  was  still  in  a  bad 
temper,  and,  as  the  car  was  sailing  slowly  upwards,  he 
jumped  in,  and  the  aeronaut  gave  himself  up  for  pumped. 
In  an  instant,  moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  Silverdale 
gave  a  great  leap  and  stood  by  the  A/i?<?#-man's  side.  The 
balloon  shot  up  and  the  roar  of  the  crowd  became  a  faint 
murmur  as  the  planet  flew  from  beneath  their  feet. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  W'ilkins,"  said  Lord  Silverdale.  "  I 
should  just  like  to  interview  you  about " 

"  You  jackanapes  !  "  cried  the  Moon-man,  pale  with  anger, 
"  If  you  don't  go  away  at  once,  I'll  kick  you  down  stairs." 


88  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Wilkins,"  suavely  replied  Lord  Silver- 
dale,  "  I  will  willingly  go  down,  provided  you  accompany 
me.  I  am  sure  Herr  Nickeldort  is  anxious  to  drop  both 
of  us." 

"  Wirklich"  replied  the  aeronaut. 

"  Well,  lend  us  a  parachute,"  said  Silverdale. 

"  No,  danks.     Beobies  never  return  barachutes." 

"  Well,  we  won't  go  without  one.  I  forgot  to  bring 
mine  with  me.  I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  have  such  a 
high  old  time." 

"  By  what  right,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wilkins,  who  had  been 
struggling  with  an  attack  of  speechlessness,  "  do  you  per- 
secute me  like  this  ?  You  are  not  a  member  of  the  Fourth 
Estate." 

"  No,  I  belong  merely  to  the  Second." 

"  Eh  ?   What  ?     A  Peer  !  " 

"  I  am  Lord  Silverdale." 

"  No,  indeed  !     Lord  Silverdale  !  " 

"  Lord  Silverdale !  "  echoed  the  aeronaut,  letting  two 
sand-bags  fall  into  the  clouds.  Most  people  lose  their 
ballast  in  the  presence  of  the  aristocracy. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  I  have  long  been  anxious  to  meet 
your  lordship,"  said  the  Moon-man,  taking  out  his  note- 
book. "  What  is  your  lordship's  opinion  of  the  best  fifty 
books  for  the  working  man's  library  ? " 

"  I  have  not  yet  w'ritten  fifty  books." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Moon-man,  carefully  noting  down  the 
reply.  "  And  when  is  your  lordship's  next  book  coming 
out  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Moon-man,  writing  it  down. 
"  Will  it  be  poetry  or  prose  ?  " 

"  That  is  as  the  critics  shall  decide." 

"  Is  it  true  that  your  lordship  has  been  converted  to 
Catholicism  ?  " 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'B. 


89 


Go  away,  or  /'//  kick  you  Down  Stairs. 


go  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  I  believe  not." 

"  Then  how  does  your  lordship  account  for  the  rumor  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  indirect  connection  with  a  sort  of  new 
nunnery,  which  it  is  proposed  to  found — the  Old  Maids' 
Club." 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  one  that  Clorinda  Bell  is  going  to  join." 

"  Nonsense  !  who  told  you  she  was  going  to  join  ? " 

The  Moon-man  winced  perceptibly  at  the  question,  as 
he  replied  indignantly  :  "  Herself  !  " 

"  Thank  you.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  know.  You 
may  contradict  it  on  the  authority  of  the  president.  She 
only  said  so  to  get  an  advertisement." 

"  Then  why  give  her  two  by  contradicting  it  ? " 

"  That  is  the  woman's  cleverness.  Let  her  have  the 
advertisement,  rather  than  that  her  name  should  be  con- 
nected with  Miss  Dulcimer's." 

"  Very  well.  Tell  me  something,  please,  about  the 
Club." 

"  It  is  not  organized  yet.  It  is  to  consist  of  young  and 
beautiful  women,  vowed  to  celibacy  to  remove  the  reproach 
of  the  term  '  Old  Maid.'  " 

"  It  is  a  noble  idea  !  "  said  the  J/b0«-man,  enthusiasti- 
cally. "  Oh,  what  a  humanitarian  time  we  are  having  !  " 

"  Lord  Silverdale,"  said  Herr  Nickeldorf,  who  had 
been  listening  with  all  his  ears,  "  I  hafe  to  you  give  de 
hospitality  of  my  balloon.  Vill  you,  in  return,  take  mein 
frau  into  de  Old  Maids'  Club  ?  " 

"  As  a  visitor  ?  With  pleasure,  as  she  is  a  married 
woman." 

"  Nein,  nein.  I  mean  as  an  old  maid.  Ich  habe  sic 
nicht  nothig.  I  do  not  require  her  any  longer." 

"  Ah,  then,  I  am  afraid  we  can't.  You  see  she  isn't  an 
old  maid!" 

"But  she  haf  been." 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  we  do  not  recognize  past  services." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  ^ 

'•  Oh,  warum  wasn't  the  Club  founded  before  I  married  ?  " 
groaned  the  old  German.  "  Himmel,  vat  a  terrible  mis- 
take !  It  is  to  her  I  owe  it  that  I  am  de  most  celebrated 
aeronaut  in  der  ganzeu  welt.  It  is  the  only  profession  in 
wich  I  escape  her  gewiss.  She  haf  de  kopfioo  veak  to  rise 
mit  me.  Ah,  when  I  come  oop  here,  it  is  Himmel" 

"  Rather  taking  an  unfair  rise  out  of  your  partner,  isn't 
it  ?  "  queried  the  Moon-man  with  a  sickly  smile. 

"  And  vat  vould  you  haf  done  in — was  sagt  man — in  my 
shoes  ?  " 

The  Moon-man  winced. 

"Not  put  them  on." 

"  You  are  not  yourself  married  ?  " 

The  Moon-man  winced. 

"  No,  I'm  only  engaged." 

"  Mein  herr"  said  the  old  German  solemnly,  "  I  haf  nod- 
ings  but  drouble  from  you.  You  make  to  me  mein  life  von 
burden.  But  I  cannot  see  you  going  to  de  altar  widout 
putting  out  de  hand  to  safe  you.  It  was  stupid  to  your- 
self engage  at  all — but,  now  dat  you  haf  committed  de 
mistake,  shtick  to  it  !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Keep  yourself  engaged.  Do  not  change  your  gondi- 
tion  any  more." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Lord  Silverdale  ?  "  said  the  Moon- 
man,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  hardly  an  authority.  You  see  I  have  so  rarely  been 
married.  It  depends  on  the  character  of  your  betrothed. 
Does  she  long  to  be  of  service  in  the  world  ? " 

The  Moon-man  winced. 

"  Yes,  that's  why  she  fell  in  love  with  me.  Thought  a 
Moon-man  must  be  all  noble  sentiment  like  the  Moon 
itself  ! " 

"  She  is,  then,  young,"  said  Silverdale,  musingly.  "  Is 
she  also  beautiful  ?  " 


92  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCfi'. 

The  Moon-man  winced. 

"  Bewitching.     Why  does  your  lordship  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  her  services  might  be  valuable  as  an  Old 
Maid." 

"  Oh,  if  you  could  only  get  Diana  to  see  it  in  that  light !  " 

"  You  seem  anxious  to  be  rid  of  her." 

"  I  do.  I  confess  it.  It  has  been  growing  on  me  for 
some  time.  You  see  hers  is  a  soul  perpetually  seeking 
more  light.  She  is  always  asking  questions.  This  thirst 
for  information  would  be  made  only  more  raging  by 
marriage.  You  know  what  Stevenson  says  : — '  To  marry 
is  to  domesticate  the  Recording  Angel.'  At  present  my 
occupations  keep  me  away  from  her — but  she  answers 
my  letters  with  as  many  queries  as  a  '  Constant  Reader.' 
She  wants  to  know  all  I  say,  do,  or  feel,  and  I  never  see 
her  without  having  to  submit  to  a  string  of  inquiries.  It's 
like  having  to  fill  up  a  census  paper  once  a  week.  If  I 
don't  see  her  for  a  fortnight  she  wants  to  know  how  I  am 
the  moment  we  meet.  If  this  is  so  before  marriage,  what 
will  it  be  after,  when  her  opportunities  of  buttonholing 
me  will  be  necessarily  more  frequent  ?  " 

"  But  I  see  nothing  to  complain  of  in  that !  "  said  Lord 
Silverdale.  "  Tender  solicitude  for  one's  betrothed  is  the 
usual  thing  with  those  really  in  love.  You  wouldn't  like 
her  to  be  indifferent  to  what  you  were  doing,  saying, 
feeling  ?  " 

The  Moon-man  winced. 

"  No,  that's  just  the  dilemma  of  it,  Lord  Silverdale.  I 
am  afraid  your  lordship  does  not  catch  my  drift.  You 
see,  with  another  man,  it  wouldn't  matter  ;  as  your  lord- 
ship says,  he  would  be  glad  of  it.  But  to  me  all  that  sort 
of  thing's  'shop.'  And  I  hate  'shop.'  It's  hard  enough 
to  be  out  interviewing  all  day,  without  being  reminded  of 
its  when  you  get  home  and  want  to  put  your  slippers  on 
the  fender  and  vour  feet  inside  them  and  be  happy.  No, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLi'h'.  ^ 

if  there's  one  thing  in  this  world  I  can't  put  up  with,  it's 
'  shop  '  after  business  hours.  I  want  to  forget  that  I  get 
my  gold  in  exchange  for  notes  of  interrogation.  I  shudder 
to  be  reminded  that  there  are  such  things  in  the  world  as 
questions — I  tremble  if  I  hear  a  person  invert  the  subject 
and  predicate  of  a  sentence.  I  can  hardly  bear  to  read 
poetry  because  the  frequent  inversions  make  the  lines 
look  as  if  they  were  going  to  be  inquisitive.  Now  you 
understand  why  I  was  so  discourteous  to  your  lordship, 
and  I  trust  that  you  will  pardon  the  curt  expression  of 
my  hyper-sensitive  feelings.  Now,  too,  you  understand 
why  I  shrink  from  the  prospect  of  marriage,  to  the  brink 
of  which  I  once  bounded  so  heedlessly.  No,  it  is  evident 
a  life  of  solitude  must  be  my  portion.  If  I  am  ever  to 
steep  my  wearied  spirit  in  forgetfulness  of  my  daily  grind, 
if  my  nervous  system  is  to  be  preserved  from  premature 
break-down,  I  must  have  no  one  about  me  who  has  a  right  of 
interrogation,  and  my  housekeeper  must  prepare  my  meals 
without  even  the  preliminary  '  Chop  or  Steak,  sir  ? '  My 
home-life  must  be  restful,  peaceful,  balsamic — it  must 
exhale  a  papaverous  aroma  of  categorical  proposition." 

"  But  is  there  no  way  of  getting  a  wife  with  a  gift  of 
categorical  conversation  ?  " 

"  Please  say,  '  There  is  no  way,  etc.,'  for  unless  you 
yourself  speak  categorically,  the  sentences  grate  upon  my 
ear.  I  can  ask  questions  myself,  without  experiencing  the 
slightest  inconvenience,  but  the  moment  I  am  myself  inter- 
rogated, every  nerve  in  me  quivers  with  torture.  No,  I 
am  afraid  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  woman  who  will 
eschew  the  interrogative  form  of  proposition,  and  limit 
herself  to  the  affirmative  and  negative  varieties ;  who  will, 
for  mere  love  of  me,  invariably  place  the  verb  after  the 
noun,  and  unalterably  give  the  subject  the  precedence 
over  the  predicate.  Often  and  often,  when  my  Diana,  in 
all  her  dazzling  charms,  looks  up  pleadingly  into  my  face, 


94 


/•///•.   OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'K. 


I  feel  towards  her  as  Ahasuerus  felt  towards  the  suppliant 
Queen  Esther,  and  I  yearn  to  stretch  out  my  reporter's 
pencil  towards  her,  and  to  say :  '  Ask  me  what  you  will — 
even  if  it  be  half  my  income — so  long  as  you  do  not  ask 
me  a  question.' " 

"  But  isn't  there — I  mean  there  is — such  a  thing  obtain- 
able as  a  dumb  wife  ?  " 

"  Mutes  are  for  funerals,  and  not  for  marriages.  Besides, 
then,  everybody  would  be  asking  me  why  I  married  her. 
No,  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  see  the  futility  of 
my  dream  of  matrimonial  felicity.  Why,  a  question  lies 
at  the  very  threshold  of  marriage — '  Wilt  thou  have  this 
woman  to  be  thy  wedded  wife  ? ' — and  to  put  up  the 
banns  is  to  loose  upon  yourself  an  interviewer  in  a  white- 
tie  !  No,  leave  me  to  my  unhappy  destiny.  I  must  dree 
my  weird.  And  anything  your  lordship  can  do  in  the  way 
of  enabling  me  to  dree  it  by  soliciting  my  Diana  into  the 
Old  Maids'  Club,  shall  be  received  with  the  warmest 
thanksgiving  and  will  allow  me  to  remain  your  lordship's 
most  grateful  and  obedient  servant,  Daniel  Wilkins." 

"  Enough  !  "  said  Lord  Silverdale,  deeply  moved,  "  I 
will  send  her  a  circular.  But  do  you  really  think  you  would 
be  happy  if  you  lost  her  ?  " 

"  If,"  said  the  J/<?0«-man  moodily.  "  It  would  require 
a  great  many  '  ifs  '  to  make  me  happy.  As  I  once  wrote  : 

If  cash  were  always  present, 

And  business  always  paid ; 
If  skies  were  always  pleasant, 

And  pipes  were  never  laid  ; 
If  toothache  emigrated, 

Dyspepsia  disappeared, 
And  babies  were  cremated, 

And  boys  and  girls  were  speared ; 
If  shirts  were  always  creamy, 

And  buttons  never  broke ; 
If  eyes  were  always  beamy, 

And  all  could  see  a  joke ; 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  95 

If  ladies  never  fumbled 

At  railway  pigeon  holes  ; 
New  villas  never  crumbled, 

And  lawyers  boasted  souls  ; 
If  beer  was  never  swallowed, 

And  cooks  were  never  drunk, 
And  trades  were  never  followed, 

And  thoughts  were  never  thunk ; 
If  sorrow  never  troubled, 

And  pleasure  never  cloyed, 
And  animals  were  doubled, 

And  humans  all  destroyed  ; 
Then — if  there  were  no  papers, 

And  more  words  rhymed  with  "giving"— 
Existence  would  be  capers, 

And  life  be  worth  the  living. 

Your  lordship  might  give  me  a  poem  in  exchange,"  con- 
cluded the  Moori-mzn  conceitedly.  "  An  advance  quote 
from  your  next  volume,  say." 

"  Very  well,"  and  the  peer  good-naturedly  began  to 
recite  the  first  fytte  of  an  old  English  romance. 

Ye  white  moon  sailed  o'er  ye  dark-blue  vault, 
And  safely  steered  mid  ye  fleet  of  starres, 
And  threw  down  smiles  to  ye  antient  salt, 
While  Vtnus  flyrtede  with  wynkynge  Mars. 
Along  ye  sea-washed  slipperie  slabbes 
Ye  whelkes  were  stretchynge  their  weary  limbs, 
While  prior  to  going  to  bedde  ye  crabbes 
Were  softlie  chaunting  their  evenynge  hymnes." 

At  this  point  a  sudden  shock  threw  both  bards  off  their 
feet,  inverting  them  in  a  manner  most  disagreeable  to  the 
J/00#-man,  While  they  were  dropping  into  poetry,  the 
balloon  had  been  dropping  into  a  wood,  and  the  aeronaut 
had  thrown  his  grapnel  into  the  branches  of  a  tree. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  they  cried. 

"  Change  here  for  London  !  "  said  the  Herr,  phlegmati- 
cally,  "  unless  you  want  to  go  mit  me  to  Calais.  In  five 
more  minutes  I  shall  be  crossing  de  Channel." 


96  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  No,  no,  put  us  down,"  said  the  Moon-man.  "  I  never 
could  cross  the  Channel.  Oh,  when  are  they  going  to 
make  that  tunnel  ? "  Thereupon  he  lowered  himself  into 
the  tree,  and  Lord  Silverdale  followed  his  example. 

"  Guten  nacht !"  said  the  Herr.  "Folkestone  should 
be  someveres  about.  Fordunately,  de  moon  is  out,  and 
you  may  be  able  to  find  it !  " 

"  I  say  !  "  shrieked  the  Moon-man,  as  the  balloon  began 
to  free  itself  on  its  upward  flight,  "  How  far  off  is  it  ? " 

"  I  vill  not  be — was  heist  es  ? — interviewed.  Guten 
nacht.1' 

Soon  the  great  sphere  was  no  bigger  than  a  star  in  the 
heavens. 

"  This  is  a  nice  go,"  said  the  Moon-man,  when  they  had 
climbed  down. 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble.  I  know  the  Southeast  coast  well. 
There  is  sure  to  be  a  town  within  a  four  mile  radius." 

"  Then  let  us  take  a  hansom,"  said  the  Moon-man. 

"  Wilkins,  are  you — I  mean  you  are — losing  your  head," 
said  Lord  Silverdale.  And  linking  the  interviewer's  arm 
in  his,  he  fared  forth  into  the  darkness. 

"  Do  you  know  what  1  thought,"  said  Wilkins,  as  they 
undressed  in  the  lonely  roadside  inn  (for  ballooning  makes 
us  acquainted  with  strange  bedfellows),  "  when  I  was 
sliding  down  the  trunk  with  you  on  the  branches  above  ? " 

"  No — what  did  you — I  mean  you  did  think  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  a  bit  superstitious,  and  I  saw  in  the  situa- 
tion a  forecast  of  my  future.  That  tree  typifies  my 
genealogical  tree,  for  when  1  have  grown  rich  and  prosper- 
ous by  my  trade,  there  will  be  a  peer  perched  somewhere 
on  the  upper  branches.  Debrett  will  discover  him." 

"  Indeed  I  hope  so,"  said  the  peer  fervently,  "  for  in 
the  happy  time  when  you  shall  have  retired  from  business 
you  will  be  able  to  make  Diana  happy." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


97 


Coming  Dawn  from  the  Clcntds, 


98  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  IDYL  OF  TREPOLPEN. 

"No,, we  can't  have  Diana,"  the  President  said,  when 
Lord  Silverdale  reported  the  matter.  "That  is,  not  if 
the  Moon-man  breaks  off  the  engagement.  According 
to  the  rules,  the  candidate  must  have  herself  discarded  an 
advantageous  marriage,  and  that  Miss  Diana  will  give  up 
Mr.  Wilkins  is  extremely  questionable." 

"  Like  every  thing  connected  with  the  Afoon-ma.n's  bride. 
However,  my  aerial  expedition  has  not  been  fruitless  ;  if  I 
have  not  brought  you  a  member  from  the  clouds,  at  least 
we  know  how  right  I  was  to  pluck  Clorinda  Bell." 

"  Yes,  and  how  right  I  was  to  appoint  you  Honorary 
Trier  !  "  said  Lillie.  "  I  have  several  more  candidates  for 
you,  chosen  from  my  last  batch  of  applications.  While 
you  were  in  the  clouds,  I  was  working.  I  have  already  in- 
terviewed them.  They  fulfil  all  the  conditions.  It  only 
remains  for  you  to  do  your  part." 

"  Have  they  given  good  reasons  for  their  refusal  to 
marry  their  lovers  ?  " 

"  Excellent  reasons.  Reasons  so  strange  as  to  bear  the 
stamp  of  truth.  Here  is  the  first  reduced  to  writing.  It 
is  compounded  of  what  Miss  Ellaline  Rand  said  to  me  and 
of  what  she  left  unsaid.  Read  it,  while  I  put  another  of 
these  love  stories  into  shape.  I  am  so  glad  I  founded  the 
Old  Maids'  Club.  It  has  enlarged  my  experience  in- 
calculably." 

Lord  Silverdale  took  the  manuscript  and  read. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  gg 

When  John  Beveridge  went  to  nurse  his  misanthropy 
in  the  obscure  fishing  village  of  Trepolpen,  he  had  not 
bargained  for  the  presence  of  Ellaline  Rand.  And  yet 
there  she  was,  living  in  a  queer  little  cottage  on  the  very 
top  of  the  steep  hill  which  constituted  Trepolpen,  and 
sloped  down  to  a  pebbly  beach  where  the  dark  nets  dried 
and  the  trawl  boats  were  drawn  up.  The  people  she  was 
staying  with  were  children  of  the  soil  and  the  sea — the 
man,  a  rugged  old  fish-dealer  who  had  been  a  smuggler 
in  his  time  ;  the  woman,  a  chirpy  grandame  whose  eyes 
were  still  good  enough  to  allow  her  to  weave  lace  by  lamp- 
light. The  season  was  early  June,  and  the  glittering  smile 
on  the  broad  face  of  the  Atlantic  made  the  roar  of  the 
breakers  sound  like  stentorian  laughter.  There  was  always 
a  whiff  of  fish — a  blend  of  mackerel  and  crabs  and  mullet 
— striking  up  from  the  beach,  but  the  salt  in  the  air  kept 
the  odoriferous  atoms  fairly  fresh.  Everything  in  Trepol- 
pen was  delightfully  archaic,  and  even  the  far-away  sugges- 
tions of  antiquity  about  the  prevailing  piscine  flavor 
seemed  in  poetic  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  primitive 
little  spot. 

In  a  village  of  one  street  it  is  impossible  not  to  live  in 
it,  unless  you  are  a  coastguard,  and  then  you  don't  live  in 
the  village.  This  was  why  John  Beveridge  was  a  neigh- 
bor of  Ellaline's.  He  lived  much  lower  down,  where  the 
laugh  of  the  Atlantic  was  louder  and  the  scent  of  the  fish 
was  stronger,  and  before  he  knew  of  Ellaline's  existence 
he  used  to  go  down  hill  (which  is  easy)  smoke  his  pipe  and 
chat  with  the  trawlers,  and  lie  on  his  back  in  the  sun. 
After  they  had  met,  he  grew  less  lazy  and  used  to  take 
exercise  by  walking  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Probably  by 
this  time  the  sea-breezes  had  given  him  strength.  Some- 
times he  met  Ellaline  coming  down ;  which  was  accident. 
Then  he  would  turn  and  walk  down  with  her  ;  which  was 
design.  The  manner  of  their  first  meeting  was  novel,  but 


ioo  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUK. 

in  such  a  place  it  could  not  be  long  delayed.  Beveridge 
had  obeyed  a  call  from  the  boatmen  to  come  and  help 
them  drag  in  the  seine.  He  was  tugging  with  all  his 
might  at  the  section  of  the  netting,  for  the  fishers  seemed 
to  be  in  luck  and  the  fish  unfortunate.  Suddenly  he  heard 
the  pit-pat  of  light  feet  running  down  the  hill,  and  the 
next  moment  two  little  white  hands  peeping  out  of  white 
cuffs  were  gripping  the  net  at  the  side  of  his  own  fleshy 
brown  ones.  For  some  thirty  seconds  he  was  content  to 
divine  the  apparition  from  the  hands.  There  was  a  flutter 
of  sweet  expectation  about  his  heart,  a  stirring  of  the  sense 
of  romance. 

The  day  was  divine.  The  sky  was  a  brooding  blue  ; 
the  sea  was  a  rippling  play  of  light  on  which  the  seine- 
boat  danced  lightly.  One  little  brown  sail  was  visible  far 
out  in  the  bay,  the  sea-gulls  hovering  about  it.  It  seemed 
to  Beveridge  that  the  scene  had  only  been  waiting  for 
those  gentle  little  hands,  whose  assistance  in  the  operation 
of  landing  the  spoil  was  such  a  delicious  farce.  They 
could  be  no  native  lass's,  these  soft  fingers  with  their  pink 
little  nails  like  pretty  sea-pearls.  They  were  fingers  that 
spoke  (in  their  mute  digital  dialect)  of  the  crayon  and  the 
violin-bow,  rather  than  of  the  local  harmonium.  There 
was  something,  too,  about  the  coquettish  cuffs,  irresistibly 
at  variance  with  the  village  Wesleyanism.  Gradually,  as 
the  net  came  in,  Beveridge  let  his  eyes  steal  towards  her 
face.  The  prevision  of  romance  became  a  certainty.  It 
was  a  charming  little  face,  as  symmetrically  proportioned 
to  the  hands  as  the  face  of  a  watch  is.  The  nose  was  re- 
trousse' and  piquant,  but  the  eyes  contradicted  it,  being 
demure  and  dreamy.  There  was  a  little  Cupid's  bow  of 
a  mouth,  and  between  the  half-parted  rosy  lips  a  gleam  of 
white  teeth  clenched  with  the  exertion  of  hauling  in  the 
seine.  A  simple  sailor's  hat  crowned  a  fluff  of  flaxen  hair, 
and  her  dress  was  of  airy  muslin. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'H.  IOi 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  the  glee  of  hauling  in  the  fish 
that  it  was  some  moments  before  she  seemed  to  notice 
that  her  neighbor's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her,  and  that 
they  were  not  set  in  the  rugged  tan  of  the  local  masculine 
face.  A  little  blush  leapt  into  the  rather  pale  cheeks  and 
v/ent  out  again  like  a  tiny  spurt  of  rosy  flame.  Then  she 
strained  more  desperately  than  ever  at  the  net  It  was 
soon  ashore,  with  its  wild  and  whirling  mixture  of  mackerel, 
soles,  dabs,  squids,  turbot — John  Beveridge  was  not  cer- 
tain but  what  his  heart  was  already  among  the  things  flut- 
tering there  in  the  net  at  her  feet. 

While  the  trawlers  were  sorting  out  the  fish,  spreading 
some  on  the  beach  and  packing  the  mackerel  in  baskets, 
Ellaline  looked  on,  patently  interested  in  everything  but 
her  fellow  amateur.  After  all,  despite  his  shaggy  coat  and 
the  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth,  he  was  of  the  town,  towny ; 
some  solicitor,  artist,  stockbroker,  doctor,  on  a  holiday  ; 
perhaps,  considering  the  time  of  year,  only  a  clerk. 
What  she  had  come  to  Trepolpen  for  was  something  more 
primitive.  And  he  !  Surely  he  had  seen  and  loved  pretty 
women  enough,  not  to  stir  an  inch  nearer  this  dainty 
vision.  For  what  but  to  forget  the  wiles  and  treacheries 
of  women  of  the  town  had  he  buried  himself  here  ?  And 
yet  was  it  the  unexpectedness,  was  it  that  while  bringing 
back  the  atmosphere  of  great  cities  she  yet  seemed  a 
creature  of  the  woods  and  waters,  he  felt  himself  drawn  to 
her  ?  He  wanted  to  talk  to  her,  to  learn  who  she  was  and 
what  she  was  doing  here,  but  he  did  not  know  how  to 
begin,  though  he  had  the  gift  of  many  tongues.  Not  that 
he  deemed  an  introduction  necessary — in  Trepolpen, 
where  not  to  give  everybody  you  met  "  good-morning " 
was  to  court  a  reputation  for  surliness.  And  it  would  have 
been  easy  enough  to  open  on  the  weather,  or  the  marine 
harvest  they  had  both  helped  to  gather  in. .  But  somehow 
John  Beveridge  learnt  embarrassment  in  the  presence  of 


102  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB 

this  muslined  mermaiden,  who  seemed  half  of  the  world 
and  half  of  the  sea.  And  so,  amid  the  bustle  of  the  beach, 
the  minutes  slipped  away,  and  Beveridge  spoke  no  word 
but  leaned  against  the  cliff,  content  to  drowse  in  the  light 
of  the  sun  and  Ellaline. 

The  dealers  came  down  to  the  beach — men  and  women 
— among  them  a  hale,  grizzly  old  fellow  who  clasped  Ella- 
line's  hand  in  his  huge,  gnarled  fist.  The  auction  began. 
John  Beveridge  joined  the  crowd  at  a  point  behind  the 
strangely  assorted  couple.  Of  a  sudden  Ellaline  turned 
to  him  with  her  great  limpid  eyes  looking  candidly  into 
his,  and  said,  "  Some  of  those  poor  mackerel  are  not  quite 
dead  yet — I  wonder  if  they  suffer."  John  Beveridge  was 
taken  aback.  The  last  vestiges  of  his  wonted  assurance 
were  swept  away  before  her  sweet  simplicity. 

"  I — I — really — I  don't  know — I've  never  thought  about 
it,"  he  stammered. 

"  Men  never  do,"  said  Ellaline  with  a  gentle  reproach- 
ful look.  "  They  think  only  of  their  own  pain.  I  do  hope 
fish  have  no  feelings." 

"  They  are  cold-blooded,"  he  reminded  her,  beginning 
to  recover  himself. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said  musingly.  "  But  what  right  have  we 
to  take  away  their  lives  ?  They  must  be — oh  so  happy  ! — 
in  the  beautiful  wide  ocean  !  I  am  sorry  I  had  a  hand  in 
destroying  them.  I  shall  never  do  it  again." 

"  You  have  very  little  to  reproach  yourself  with,"  he 
said,  smiling. 

"  Ah  !  now  you  are  laughing  at  me.  I  know  I'm  not  big 
and  strong,  and  that  my  muscles  could  have  been  dis- 
pensed with.  But  the  will  was  there,  the  intention  was 
there,"  she  said  with  her  serious  air. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  are  a  piscicide  in  intention,"  he 
admitted.  "  But  you  will  enjoy  the  mackerel  all  the 
same." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


I03 


"  No,  I  won't,"  she  said  with  a  charming  little  shake  of 
the  head,  "  I  won't  eat  any." 

"  What !  you  will  nevermore  eat  fish  ?  " 

"Never,"  she  said  emphatically.  "I  love  fish,  but  I 
won't  eat  'em  !  only  tinned  things,  like  sardines.  Oh,  what 
a  little  stupid  I  am  !  Don't  laugh  at  me  again,  please.  I 
forgot  the  sardines  must  be  caught  first,  before  they  are 
tinned,  mustn't  they?  " 

"  Not  necessarily,"  he  said.  "  It  often  suffices  if  sprats 
are  caught." 

She  laughed.  Her  laugh  was  a  low  musical  ripple,  like 
one  of  the  little  sunlit  waves  translated  into  sound. 

"  Twenty-two  shillings  !  "  cried  the  owner  of  a  lot. 

"  I'll  give  'ee  eleven  !  "  said  Ellaline's  companion,  and 
the  girl  turned  her  head  to  listen  to  the  violent  chaffering 
that  ensued,  and  when  she  went  away  she  only  gave  John 
Beveridge  a  nod  and  a  smile.  But  he  followed  her  with 
his  eyes  as  she  toiled  up  the  hill,  growing  ever  smaller  and 
daintier  against  the  horizon.  The  second  time  he  met  her 
was  at  the  Cove,  a  little  way  from  the  village,  where  great 
foliage-crowned  cliffs  came  crescent-wise  round  a  space 
of  shining  sand,  girdled  at  its  outer  margin  by  tumbling 
green,  foam-crested  surges.  Huge  mammoth-like  boulders 
stood  about,  bathing  their  feet  in  the  incoming  tide,  the 
cormorants  perching  cautiously  down  the  precipitous  half- 
worn  path  that  led  to  the  sands.  There  was  a  point  at 
which  the  landward  margin  of  the  shore  beneath  first 
revealed  itself  to  the  descending  pedestrian,  and  it  was  a 
point  so  slippery  that  it  was  thoughtless  of  Fate  to  have 
included  Ellaline  in  the  area  of  vision.  She  was  lying, 
sheltered  by  a  blue  sunshade,  on  the  golden  sand,  with  her 
head  on  the  base  of  the  cliff,  abstractedly  tearing  a  long 
serpentine  weed  to  dark  green  ribbons,  and  gazing  out 
dreamily  into  the  throbbing  depths  of  sea  and  sky.  There 
was  an  open  book  before  her,  but  she  did  no  seem  to  be 


1O4 


THE  ULJ)  MAIDS'  CIA' I-!. 


reading.  John  Beveridge  saved  himself  by  grasping  a 
stinging  bush,  and  he  stole  down  gently  towards  her,  for- 
getting to  swear. 

He  came  to  her  with  footsteps  muffled  by  the  soft  sand, 
and  stood  looking  down  at  her,  admiring  the  beauty  of  the 
delicate  flushed  young  face  and  the  flaxen  hair  against  the 
sober  background  of  the  aged  cliff  with  its  mellow  subtly- 
fused  tints. 

"  Thinking  of  the  little  fishes — or  of  the  gods  ?  "  he  said 
at  last  in  a  loud  pleasant  voice. 

Ellaline  gave  a  little  shriek. 

"  Oh,  where  did  you  spring  from  ?  "  she  said,  half  rais- 
ing herself. 

"  Not  from  the  clouds,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  not.  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  gods,"  said 
Ellaline. 

He  laughed.  "  I  am  not  even  a  Perseus,"  he  said,  "for 
the  tide  though  coming  in  is  not  yet  dangerous  enough  to 
be  likened  to  the  sea-monster,  though  you  might  very  well 
pass  for  Andromeda." 

Ellaline  blushed  and  rose  to  her  feet,  adjusting  a  wrap 
round  her  shoulders.  "  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  with  dig- 
nity, "  what  I  have  done  to  encourage  such  a  compar- 
ison." 

John  Beveridge  saw  he  had  slipped.  This  time  there 
was  not  even  a  stinging  bush  to  cling  to. 

"  You  are  beautiful,  that  is  all  I  meant,"  he  said  apol- 
ogetically. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  saying  such  commonplace  things  ?  " 
she  said  a  little  mollified. 

It  was  an  ambiguous  remark.  From  her  it  could  only 
mean  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  compliment. 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  A  thousand  pardons.  But,  pray,  do 
not  let  me  drive  you  away.  You  seemed  so  happy  here. 
I  will  go  back."  He  made  a  half  turn. 


77/A   OLD  MAIDS'  CLUH.  105 

"Yes,  I  was  happy,"  she  said  simply.  "  In  my  foolish 
little  way  I  thought  I  had  discovered  this  spot — as  if  any- 
thing so  beautiful  could  have  escaped  the  attention  of  those 
who  have  been  near  it  all  their  lives." 

Her  words  caused  him  a  sudden  pang  of  anxious  jeal- 
ousy. Must  they  not  be  true  of  herself  ? 

"  And  you,  too,  seemed  to  have  discovered  it,"  she  went 
on.  "  Doubtless  you  know  all  the  coast  well,  for  you  were 
here  before  me.  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
his  face  with  her  candid  gray  eyes,  "  this  is  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  have  seen  the  sea,  so  you  must  not  laugh  if  I 
seem  ignorant,  but  oh  !  how  I  love  to  lie  and  hear  it  roar, 
tossing  its  mane  like  some  great  wild  animal  that  I  have 
tamed  and  that  will  not  harm  me." 

"  There  are  other  wild  animals  that  you  may  tame,  here 
by  the  sea,"  he  said. 

She  considered  for  a  moment  gravely. 

"  That  is  rather  pretty,"  she  announced.  "  I  shall  re- 
i  emember  that.  But  please  do  not  tell  me  again  I  am  beauti- 
ful." She  sat  down  on  the  sand,  with  her  back  to  the  cliff, 
re-adjusting  her  parasol. 

"Very  well.  I  sit  reproved,"  he  replied,  taking  up  his 
position  by  her  side.  "  What  book  is  that  you  are  reading  ?  " 

She  handed  him  the  little  paper-covered,  airily-printed 
volume,  suggesting  summer  in  every  leaf. 

"  Ah,  it  is  The  Cherub  That  Sits  Up  Aloft !  "  he  said, 
with  a  shade  of  superciliousness  blent  with  amusement. 

"  Yes,  have  you  read  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  have  heard  of  it.  It's  by  that  new 
woman  who  came  out  last  year  and  calls  herself  Andrew 
Dibdin,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellaline.  "  It's  made  an  enormous  hit,  don't 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  It's  a  lot  of 
sentimental  rot,  isn't  it?  Do  you  like  it?  " 


I06  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  I  think  it  is  sweetly  pretty,"  she  said,  a  teardrop  of 
vexation  gathering  on  her  eyelid.  "  If  you  haven't  read 
it,  why  should  you  abuse  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  one  can't  read  everything,"  he  said.  "  But  one 
gets  to  pick  up  enough  about  a  book  to  know  whether  he 
cares  to  read  it.  Of  course,  I  am  aware  it  is  about  a  little 
baby  on  board  a  ship  that  makes  charming  inarticulate 
orations  and  is  worshipped  by  everybody,  from  the  captain 
to  the  little  stowaway,  and  is  regarded  by  the  sailors  as 
the  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits  up  aloft,  etc.,  and  that 
there  is  a  sensational  description  of  a  storm  at  sea — which 
is  Clarke  Russell  and  water,  or  rather  Clarke  Russell  and 
more  water." 

"  Ah,  I  see  you're  a  cynic,"  said  Ellaline.  "  I  don't  like 
cynics." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  am  not,"  he  pleaded.  "  It  is  false,  not 
true,  sentiment  I  object  to." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  this  is  false  sentiment  ? "  she 
asked  in  honest  indignation.  "  When  you  haven't  read 
it  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  he  murmured,  overwhelmed 
by  her  sense  of  duty.  She  was  evidently  unaccustomed 
to  the  light  flippancies  of  elegant  conversation. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  To  some  people  nothing  matters.  Will 
you  promise  to  read  the  book  if  I  lend  it  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  he  said,  delighted  at  the  establish- 
ment of  so  permanent  a  link.  "  Only  I  don't  want  to 
deprive  you  of  it — I  can  wait  till  you  have  finished  with  it." 

"  I  have  finished.  I  have  read  it  over  and  over  again. 
Take  it."  She  handed  it  to  him.  Their  finger-tips  met. 

"  I  recant  already,"  he  said.  "  It  must  have  something 
pure  and  good  in  it  to  take  captive  a  soul  like  yours." 

And  indeed  the  glamour  of  Ellaline  was  over  every  page 
of  it.  As  he  read,  he  found  tears  of  tenderness  in  his 
eyes,  when  otherwise  they  might  have  sprung  from  laugh- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


107 


ter.  He  adored  the  little  cherub  who  sat  up  aloft  on  the 
officers'  table  and  softened  these  crusty  sea-dogs  whose 
hearts  were  become  as  ship's-biscuits.  He  could  not  tell 
what  had  come  over  himself,  that  his  own  sere  heart 
should  be  so  quick  again  to  the  beauties  of  homely  virtue 
and  duty,  to  the  engaging  simplicity  and  pathos  of  child- 
hood, to  the  purity  of  womanhood.  Was  it  that  Ellaline 
was  all  these  things  incarnate  ? 

He  avowed  his  error  and  his  conversion,  and  gradually 
they  came  to  meet  often  in  the  solitary  creek,  as  was  but 
right  for  the  only  two  intellectual  people  in  Trepolpen. 
Sometimes,  too,  they  wandered  further  afield,  amid  the 
ferny  lanes.  But  the  Cove  was  their  favorite  trysting 
place,  and  there  lying  with  his  head  in  her  lap,  he  would 
talk  to  her  of  books  and  men  and  one  woman. 

He  found  her  tastes  were  not  limited  to  The  Cherub 
That  Sits  Up  Aloft,  for  she  liked  Meredith.  "  Really," 
he  said,  "  if  you  had  not  been  yourself,  I  should  have 
doubted  whether  your  admiration  was  genuine." 

"  Yes,  his  women  are  so  real.  But  I  do  not  pretend  to 
care  for  the  style." 

"  Style  !  "  he  said,  "  I  call  it  a  five-barred  fence.  To 
me  style  is  everything.  Style  alone  is  literature,  whether 
it  be  the  man  or  not." 

"  Oh,  then  you  are  of  the  school  of  Addiper  ?  " 

"  Ah,  have  you  heard  of  that  ?  I  am.  I  admire  Add- 
iper and  agree  with  him.  Form  is  everything — literature 
is  only  a  matter  of  form.  And  a  book  is  only  a  form  of 
matter." 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  But  I  adore  Addiper  my- 
self, though  I  regret  the  future  seems  likely  to  be  his.  I 
have  read  all  he  has  written.  Every  line  is  so  lucid. 
The  form  is  exquisite.  But  as  for  the  matter !  " 

"  No  matter  !  "  summed  up  John  BeverLdge,  laughing 
heartily. 


io8 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  IOg 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  agree  with  me  sometimes,"  said 
Ellaline.  "  Because  it  shows  you  don't  think  I  am  so 
very  stupid  after  all." 

"  Of  course  I  don't — except  when  you  get  so  enthusias- 
tic about  literary  people  and  rave  about  Dibdin  and  Add- 
iper  and  Blackwin  and  the  rest.  If  you  mixed  with  them, 
my  little  girl,  as  I  have  done,  you  would  soon  lose  your 
rosy  illusions.  Although  perhaps  you  are  better  with 
them." 

"  Ah,  then  you're  not  a  novelist  yourself  ? "  she  said 
anxiously. 

"  No,  I  am  not.     What  makes  you  ask  ? " 

"  Nothing.  Only  sometimes,  from  your  conversation, 
I  suspected  you  might  be." 

"  Thank  you,  Ellaline,"  he  said,  "  for  a  very  dubious 
compliment.  No,  I  am  afraid  I  must  forego  that  claim 
upon  your  admiration.  Unless  I  tell  a  lie  and  become 
a  novelist  by  doing  so.  But  then  wouldn't  it  be  the 
truth  ?  " 

"  Are  you,  then,  a  painter  or  a  musician  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  do  not  get  my  living  by 
art." 

"  Not  of  any  kind  ?  " 

"  Not  of  any  kind." 

"  How  do  you  get  it  ?  "  she  asked  simply,  a  candid  light 
shining  in  the  great  gray  eyes. 

"  My  father  was  a  successful  saddle-maker.  He  is 
dead." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said. 

"  Leather  has  made  me,  from  childhood  up — it  has 
chastised,  supported,  educated  me,  and  given  me  the 
entree  everywhere.  So  you  see  I  cannot  hold  a  candle  to 
your  demigods." 

"  Ah, 'but  there  is  nothing  like  leather,"  said  Ellaline, 
and  stroked  the  head  in  her  lap  reassuringly. 


no  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

The  assurance  permeated  John  Beveridge's  frame  like 
a  pleasant  cordial.  All  that  was  hard  and  leathery  in  him 
seemed  to  be  soaked  soft.  Here,  at  last,  was  a  woman 
who  loved  him  for  himself — an  innocent,  trusting  woman 
in  whose  weakness  a  man  might  find  strength.  Her  pure 
lips  were  like  the  wayside  well  at  which  the  wearied  wan 
derer  from  great  stony  cities  might  drink  and  be  re- 
freshed. And  yet,  delightful  as  her  love  would  be  in  his 
droughty  life,  he  felt  that  his  could  not  prove  less  de- 
lightful to  her.  That  he,  John  Beveridge,  with  the  roses 
thrusting  themselves  into  his  eyes,  should  stoop  to  pick 
the  simple  little  daisy  at  his  feet,  could  not  fail  to  fill 
her  with  an  admiring  gratitude  that  would  add  the  last 
charm  to  her  passion  for  him. 

But  it  was  not  till  a  week  afterwards  that  the  formal 
proposal,  so  long  impending,  broke.  They  were  resting  in  a 
lane  and  discussing  everything  they  didn't  want  to  dis- 
cuss, the  unspoken  playing  with  subtle  sweetness  about 
the  spoken. 

"  Have  you  read  Mr.  Gladstone's  latest  ?  "  she  asked  at 
last. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  has  Mr.  Gladstone  ever  a  latest  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  take  him  day  by  day,  like  an  evening  paper. 
I'm  referring  to  his  article  on  'Ancient  Beliefs  in  a  Future 
State."" 

"  What's  that— the  belief  of  old  maids  that  they'll  get 
married  ? " 

"  Now  you  are  blasphemous,"  she  cried  with  a  pretty 
pout. 

"  How  ?     Are  old  maids  a  sacred  subject  ? " 

"  Everything  old  should  be  sacred  to  us,"  she  said 
simply.  "  But  you  know  that  is  not  what  I  mean." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  what  a  tease  you  are  !  "  she  cried.     "  I  shan't  be 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  m 

sorry  to  be  quit  of  you.  Your  flippancy  is  quite  dread- 
ful." 

"  Why,  do  you  believe  in  a  future  state  ? "  he  said. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  If  we  had  only  one  life,  it  would  not 
be  worth  living." 

"  But  nine  times  one  life  would  be  worth  living.  Is 
that  the  logic  ?  If  so,  happy  cats  !  I  wonder,"  he  added 
irrelevantly,  "  why  the  number  nine  always  goes  with  cats 
— nine  lives,  nine  tails,  nine  muses  ?  " 

Ellaline  made  a  mom  and  shrank  petulantly  away  from 
him.  "  I  will  not  discuss  our  future  state,  unless  you  are 
prepared  to  do  it  seriously,"  she  said. 

"  I  am,"  he  replied  with  sudden  determination.  "  Let 
us  enter  it  together.  I  am  tired  of  the  life  I've  been  lead- 
ing, and  I  love  you," 

"  What !  "  she  said  in  a  little  horrified  whisper.  "  You 
want  us  to  commit  suicide  together  ?  " 

"  No,  no — matrimony.  I  cannot  do  it  alone — I  have 
never  had  the  courage  to  do  it  at  all.  With  you  at  my 
side,  I  should  go  forward,  facing  the  hereafter  cheerfully, 
with  faith  and  trust." 

"  I — I — am — afraid — I "  she  stammered. 

"  Why  should  you  be  afraid  ? "  he  interrupted. 
"  Have  you  no  faith  and  trust  in  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  with  a  frank  smile,  "  if  I  had  not 
confidence  in  you,  I  should  not  be  here  with  you." 

"  You  angel !  "  he  said,  his  eyes  growing  wet  under 
her  clear,  limpid  gaze.  "  But  you  love  me  a  little, 
too  ? " 

"  I  do  not,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  demurely. 

John  Beveridge  groaned.  After  so  decisive  an  avowal 
from  the  essence  of  candor,  what  remained  to  be  said  ? 
Nothing  but  to  bid  her  and  his  hopes  farewell — the  latter 
at  once,  the  former  as  soon  as  she  was  escorted  back  to 
Trepolpen.  His  affection  had  grown  so  ripe,  he  could 


112  '1  '//A  OLD  MA  JDS '  CLl  '/i. 

not  exchange  it  for  the  green  fruit  of  friendship.  And 
yet,  was  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  that  sweet  idyllic  inter- 
lude, a  jarring  note  and  then  silence  for  evermore  ? " 

"  But  could  you  never  learn  to  love  me  ?  " 

She  laughed  her  girlish,  ringing  laugh. 

"  I  am  not  so  backward  as  all  that,"  she  said.  "  I  mas- 
tered it  in  a  dozen  lessons." 

He  stared  at  her,  a  wild  hope  kindling  in  his  eyes. 
"  Did  I  hear  aright  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  horse  tone. 

She  nodded,  still  smiling.' 

"  Then  I  did  not  hear  aright  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  did.  I  said  I  did  not  love  you  a  little. 
I  love  you  a  great  deal." 

There  were  tears  in  the  gray  eyes  now,  but  they  smiled 
on.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  the  Devonshire  lane 
was  transformed  to  Eden.  How  exquisite  this  angelic 
frankness,  when  the  words  pleased  !  How  delicious  the 
frankness  of  her  caress  when  words  were  de  trap  ! 

But  at  last  she  spoke  again.  "  And  now  that  I  know 
you  love  me  for  myself,  I  will  tell  you  a  secret."  The 
little  hands  that  had  first  clasped  his  attention  were  laid 
on  his  shoulders,  the  dreamy  face  looked  up  tenderly  and 
proudly  into  his.  "  They  say  a  woman  cannot  keep  a 
secret,"  she  said.  "  But  you  will  never  believe  that  again, 
when  I  tell  you  mine  ?  " 

"  I  never  believed  it,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  Consider 
how  every  woman  keeps  the  great  secret  of  her  age." 

"  Ah,  that  is  not  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  she  said 
archly.  "  It  is  another  of  the  great  secrets  of  my  age. 
You  remember  that  book  you  liked  so  much — The  Cherub 
That  Sits  Up  Aloft  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  he  said  wonderingly. 

"  Well,  I  wrote  it !  " 

"  You  !  "  he  exclaimed,  startled.  His  image  of  her 
seemed  a  pillar  of  sand  upon  which  the  simoom  had  burst. 


THK  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  n3 

This  fresh,  simple  maiden  a  complex  literary  being,  a 
slave  of  the  midnight  lamp. 

"  Yes,  I — I  am  Andrew  Dibdin — the  authoress  who 
drew  tears  from  your  eyes." 

"  You,  Andrew  Dibdin  !  "  he  repeated  mechanically. 

She  nodded  her  head  with  a  proud  and  happy  smile.  "  I 
knew  you  would  be  pleased — but  I  wanted  you  to  love  me, 
not  my  book." 

"  I  love  both,"  he  exclaimed.  The  new  conceptions 
had  fitted  themselves  into  the  old.  He  saw  now  what  the 
charm  of  the  little  novel  was — the  book  was  Ellaline  be- 
tween covers.  He  wondered  he  had  not  seen  it  before. 
The  grace,  the  purity,  the  pathos,  the  sweet  candor,  the 
recollections  of  a  childhood  spent  on  the  great  waters  in 
the  company  of  kindly  mariners — all  had  flowed  out  at 
the  point  of  her  pen.  She  had  put  herself  into  her  work. 
He  felt  a  subtle  jealousy  of  the  people  who  bought  heron 
the  bookstalls  for  a  shilling— or  even  for  ninepence  at  the 
booksellers'.  He  wanted  to  have  her  all  to  himself.  He 
experienced  a  mad  desire  to  buy  up  the  edition.  But 
there  would  be  a  new  one.  He  realized  the  feelings  of 
Othello.  Oh,  if  he  could  but  arrest  her  circulation  ! 

"  If  you  knew  how  happy  it  made  me  to  hear  you  say 
you  love  my  book  !  "  she  replied.  "  At  first  I  hated  you 
because  you  sneered  at  it.  All  my  friends  love  my  books 
— and  I  wanted  you  to  be  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  am  more  than  that,"  he  said  exultantly.  "  And  I 
want  to  love  all  your  books.  What  else  have  you  written  ?  " 

"Only  two  others,"  she  said  apologetically.  "  You  see 
I  have  only  been  in  literature  six  months  and  I  only 
write  straight  from  the  heart." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  he  said.  "  You  wear  your  heart  upon 
your  leaves." 

Jealous  as  he  was  of  her  readers,  he  felt  that  there  was 
balm  in  Gilead.  She  was  not  a  hack-writer,  turning  out 

8 


n 4  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

books  for  the  market  of  malice  aforethought  ;  not  the 
complex  being  he  had  figured  in  the  first  moment  of  con- 
sternation, the  literary  quack  with  finger  on  the  pulse  of 
the  public.  She  did  but  write  as  the  birds  carolled — not 
the  slave,  but  the  genius  of  the  midnight  lamp. 

"  But  I  must  not  wear  my  heart  out,"  she  replied, 
laughingly.  "  So  I  came  down  here  for  a  month  to  get 
fresh  material.  I  am  writing  a  novel  of  Cornish  peasant 
life — I  want  to  photograph  the  people  with  all  their 
lights  and  shades,  all  their  faiths  and  superstitions,  all 
their  ways  of  speech  and  thought — the  first  thorough 
study  ever  made  of  a  fast-fading  phase  of  Old  English 
life.  You  see,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do ;  I  feared  the 
public  would  be  tired  of  my  sailor-stories  and  I  thought 
I'd  locate  my  next  story  on  land.  Accident  determined 
its  environment.  I  learnt,  by  chance,  that  we  had  some 
poor  relatives  in  Trepolpen,  whom  my  people  had  dropped, 
and  so  I  thought  I'd  pick  them  up  again,  and  turn  them 
into  '  copy,'  and  I  welcomed  the  opportunity  of  making 
at  the  same  time  the  acquaintance  of  the  sea,  which,  as  I 
think  I  told  you,  I  have  never  seen  before.  You  see  I 
was  poor  myself  till  The  Cherub  That  Sits  Up  Aloft 
showered  down  the  gold,  and,  being  a  Cockney,  had 
never  been  able  to  afford  a  trip  to  the  seaside." 

"  My  poor  Ellaline  !  "  he  said,  kissing  her  candid  lips. 
She  was  such  an  inveterate  truth-teller  that  he  could 
only  respect  and  admire  and  adore — though  she  fell  from 
heaven.  Her  candor  infected  him.  He  felt  an  over- 
whelming paroxysm  of  veracity. 

The  mask  could  be  dropped  now.  Did  she  not  love 
John  Beveridge  ? 

"  Now  I  see  why  you  rave  so  over  literary  people  ! "  he 
said.  "You  are  dipped  in  ink  yourself." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  a  happy  smile,  "  there  is  nobody 
I  admire  so  much  as  our  great  writers." 


TI(E  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  IIS 

"  But  you  would  not  love  me  more,  if  I  were  a  great 
writer  ?  "  he  said  anxiously. 

"  No,  certainly  not.     I  couldn't,"  she  said  decisively. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  gratefully.  "  Thank  you 
for  that,  my  sweet  Ellaline.  And  now  I  think  I  can 
safely  confess  that  I  am  Addiper." 

She  gave  a  little  shriek.  Her  face  turned  white. 
"  Addiper  ! "  she  breathed. 

"  Yes,  dearest,  it  is  my  nom  de  guerre.  I  am  Addiper, 
the  writer  you  admire  so  much,  the  man  with  whose 
school,  you  were  pleased  to  say,  the  future  lies." 

'*  Addiper  !  "  she  said  again.  "  Impossible  !  why  you 
said  you  did  not  get  your  living  by  art  of  any  kind." 

"  Of  course  I  don't !  "  he  said.  "  Books  like  mine — all 
style,  no  sentiment,  morals  or  theology — never  pay.  For- 
tunately I  am  able  to  publish  them  at  my  own  expense. 
I  write  only  for  writers.  That  is  why  you  like  me. 
Successful  writers  are  those  who  write  for  readers,  just  as 
popular  painters  are  those  who  paint  for  spectators." 

The  poor  little  face  was  ashen  gray  now.  The  surprise 
was  too  much  for  the  fragile  little  beauty.  "  Then  you 
really  are  Addiper !  "  she  said  in  low,  slow  tones. 

"  Yes,  dearest,"  he  said  not  without  a  touch  of  pride. 
"  I  am  Addiper — and  in  you,  love,  I  have  found  a  fresh 
fount  of  inspiration.  You  shall  be  the  guiding  star  of  my 
work,  my  rare  Ellaline,  my  pearl,  my  beryl.  Ah,  this  is  a 
great  turning-point  in  my  life.  To-day  I  enter  into  my 
third  manner." 

"  This  is  not  one  of  your  teasing  jokes  ?  "  she  said 
appealingly,  her  piteous  eyes  looking  up  into  his. 

"  No,  my  Ellaline.  Do  you  think  I  would  hoax  you 
thus — to  dash  you  to  earth  again  ?  " 

"  Then,"  she  said  slowly  and  painfully,  "  then  I  can 
never  marry  you.  We  must  say  '  good-bye.'  " 

Her  lover  gazed  at  her  in  dazed  silence.      The  butter- 


n6 


THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 


The  Confession  of  Ellalint. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  ltj 

flies  floated  in  the  summer  air,  a  bee  buzzed  about  a  way- 
side flower,  from  afar  came  the  tinkle  of  a  brook.  A  deep 
peace  was  on  all  things — only  in  the  hearts  of  the  two 
litterateurs  was  pain  and  consternation. 

"  You  can  never  marry  me  !  "  repeated  John  Beveridge 
at  last.  "  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you.     Because  you  are  Addiper." 

"But  that  is  no  reason." 

"Is  it  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  thought  Addiper  would 
have  a  subtler  apprehension.'' 

"  But  what  is  it  you  object  to  in  me  ?  " 

"  To  your  genius,  of  course." 

"To  my  genius  !  " 

"  Yes,  no  mock  modesty.  Between  augurs  it  won't  do. 
Every  author  must  know  very  well  he  stands  apart  from 
the  world,  or  he  would  not  set  himself  to  paint  it.  I  know 
quite  well  I  am  not  as  other  women.  WThat  is  the  use  of 
paltering  with  one's  consciousness  !  " 

Still  the  same  delicious  candor  shone  in  the  gray  eyes. 
John  Beveridge,  not  at  all  grasping  his  dismissal,  felt  an 
unreasoning  impulse  to  kiss  them. 

"  Well,  supposing  I  am  a  genius,"  he  said  instead. 
"  Where's  the  harm  ?  " 

"  No  harm  till  you  propose  to  yoke  me  with  it !  I  never 
will  marry  a  genius." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  absurd,  Ellaline  !  "  he  said.  "  You've 
been  reading  the  foolish  nonsense  about  the  geniuses  neces- 
sarily making  bad  husbands.  No  doubt  in  some  promi- 
nent instances  geniuses  have  not  been  working  models  of 
the  domestic  virtues,  but  on  the  other  hand  there  are  scores 
of  instances  to  the  contrary.  And  blockheads  make  quite 
as  bad  husbands  as  your  Shelleys  and  your  Byrons.  Be- 
sides it  was  only  in  the  past  that  geniuses  were  blackguards ; 
to-day  it  is  the  correct  thing  to  be  correct.  Respectability 
nowadays  adds  chastity  to  the  studies  from  the  nude  ; 


1X8  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

marital  fidelity  enhances  the  force  of  poems  of  passion  : 
and  philanthropy  adds  the  last  touch  to  tragic  acting.  So 
why  should  I  suffer  for  the  sins  of  my  predecessors  ?  If 
I  may  judge  myself  by  my  present  sensations,  what  I  am 
gifted  with  is  a  genius  for  domesticity.  Do  not  sacrifice 
me,  dearest,  to  an  unproved  and  unscientific  generaliza- 
tion." 

"  It  is  not  of  that  I  am  thinking,"  Ellaline  replied,  shak- 
ing her  head  sadly.  "  In  my  opinion  the  woman  who 
refused  Shakespeare  merely  on  the  ground  that  he  wrote 
Shakespeare's  works,  should  be  sent  to  Coventry  as  a 
coward.  No,  do  not  fancy  I  am  that.  I  may  not  be  strong, 
but  I  have  courage  enough  to  marry  you  if  that  were  all. 
It  is  not  because  I  am  afraid  you  would  make  me  un- 
happy." 

"  Ah,  there  is  something  you  are  hiding  from  me,"  he 
said  anxiously,  impressed  by  the  gravity  and  sincerity  of 
her  tones. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing.  I  cannot  marry  you,  because  you 
are  a  genius." 

He  saw  what  she  meant  now.  She  had  been  reading 
the  modern  works  on  genius  and  insanity. 

"  Ah,  you  think  me  mad  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Mad — when  you  love  me  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  melan- 
choly smile. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  You  think  that  '  great  wits 
to  madness  nearly  are  allied,'  that  sane  as  I  appear,  there 
is  in  me  a  hidden  vein  of  madness.  And  yet,  if  anything, 
the  generalization  connecting  genius  with  insanity  is  more 
unsound  than  that  connecting  it  with  domestic  infelicity. 
It  would  require  a  genius  to  really  prove  such  a  connec- 
tion, and  as  he  would,  on  his  own  theory,  be  a  lunatic, 
what  becomes  of  his  theory  ?  " 

"  Your  argument  involves  a  fallacy,"  replied  Ellaline 
quietly.  "  It  does  not  follow  that  if  a  man  is  a  lunatic 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


119 


everything  he  says  or  does  has  the  taint  of  madness.  A 
genius  who  held  that  genius  meant  insanity  might  be  sane 
just  on  this  one  point." 

"  Or  insane  just  on  the  one  point.  Seriously,  Ellaline," 
said  John  Beveridge,  beginning  to  lose  his  temper,  "  you 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  believe  that  genius  is  really  '  a 
psychical  neurosis  of  the  epileptoid  order.  If  you  do  you 
must  be  mad  yourself,  that's  all  I  can  say." 

"  Of  course  I  should  have  to  admit  I  am  mad  myself  if 
I  held  the  theory  that  genius  meant  insanity.  But  I 
don't." 

"  You  don't !  "  he  said,  staring  blankly  at  her.  "  You 
don't  believe  I'm  insane,  and  you  don't  believe  I'll  make 
a  bad  husband — I  should  be  insane  if  I  did,  my  sweet  little 
Ellaline.  And  you  still  wish  to  cry  off  ? " 

"  I  must." 

"  Then  you  no  longer  love  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  say  that !  Y'ou  do  not  know 
how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  give  you  up — do  not  make  our 
parting  harder." 

"  Ellaline,  in  heaven's  name  vex  me  no  further.  What 
is  this  terrible  mystery  ?  Why  can  you  no  longer  think  of 
me  ?  " 

"  If  you  only  thought  of  me  a  little  you  would  guess. 
But  men  are  so  selfish.  If  it  were  only  you  that  had  genius 

the  thing  would  be  simple.     But  you  forget  that  I,  too 

She  paused  ;  a  little  modest  blush  completed  the  sentence. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are  a  genius,  my  rare  Ellaline.  But 
what  then  ? "  he  cried.  "  I  only  love  you  the  more  for  it." 

"  Yes,  but  if  we  marry,"  said  Ellaline,  "  we  two  geniuses, 
look  what  will  happen." 

He  stared  at  her  afresh — she  met  his  gaze  unflinchingly. 
"  What  new  scientific  bogie  have  you  been  conjuring  up." 
he  murmured. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would  drive  science  out  of  your  head," 


120  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

she  replied  pettishly.  "  What  have  I  to  do  with  science  ? 
Really,  if  you  go  on  so  stupidly  I  shall  believe  you're  not 
a  genius  after  all." 

"  And  then  you  will  marry  me  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  Don't  be  so  stupid  !  To  speak  plainly,  for  you  seem 
as  dull  as  a  clod-hopper  to-day,  I  cannot  afford  to  marry 
a  genius,  and  a  recognized  genius  to  boot.  I  am  only  a 
struggling  young  authoress,  with  a  considerable  following, 
it  is  true,  but  still  without  an  unquestioned  position.  The 
high-class  organs  that  review  you  all  to  yourself  still  take 
me  as  one  of  a  batch  and  are  not  always  as  complimentary 
as  they  might  be.  The  moment  I  marry  you  and  my  rush- 
light is  hidden  in  your  bushel,  out  it  goes.  I  become  ab- 
sorbed simply  in  you,  a  little  satellite  circling  round  your 
planetary  glory.  I  shall  have  no  independent  existence — 
the  fame  I  have  toiled  and  struggled  for  will  be  eclipsed 
in  yours.  '  Mrs.  Addiper — the  wife  of  the  celebrated  writer, 
scribbles  a  little  herself,  don't  you  know  !  Wonder  what 
he  could  see  in  her  ! '  That's  how  people  will  talk  of  me. 
When  I  go  into  a  room  we  shall  be  announced,  '  Mr.  and. 
Mrs.  Addiper  ' — and  everybody  will  rush  round  you  and 
hang  on  your  words,  and  I  shall  be  talked  to  only  by  the 
way  of  getting  you  at  second-hand,  as  a  medium  through 
which  your  personality  is  partially  radiated.  And  parties 
will  be  given  '  To  meet  Mr.  Addiper,'  and  I  shall  accom- 
pany you  for  the  same  reason  that  your  dress-coat  will — 
because  it  is  the  etiquette." 

"  But,  Ellaline "  he  protested. 

"  Let  me  finish.  I  could  not  even  afford  to  marry  you, 
if  my  literary  position  were  equal  to  yours.  Such  a  union 
would  do  nothing  to  enhance  my  reputation.  No  woman 
of  genius  should  marry  a  man  of  genius — were  she  even 
the  greater  of  the  two  she  would  become  merged  in  him, 
even  as  she  would  take  his  name.  The  man  I  must  marry, 
the  man  I  have  been  waiting  to  fall  in  love  with  and  be 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  121 

loved  by,  is  a  plain  honest  gentleman,  unknown  to  fame 
and  innocent  of  all  aspiration  but  that  of  making  me  happy. 
He  must  devote  his  life  to  mine,  sink  himself  in  me,  sacri- 
fice himself  on  the  altar  of  my  fame,  live  only  for  the  en- 
hancement of  my  reputation.  Such  a  man  I  thought  I  had 
found  in  you — but  you  deceived  me.  I  thought  here  is  a 
man  who  loves  me  only  for  myself,  but  whose  love  will  in- 
crease tenfold  when  he  learns  that  I  stand  on  a  pedestal  of 
glory,  and  who  will  rejoice  at  the  privilege  of  passing  the  rest 
of  his  days  uplifting  that  pedestal  to  the  gaze  of  the  world, 
a  man  who  will  say  of  me  what  I  can  hardly  say  of  myself, 
who  will  drive  the  bargains  with  my  publishers,  wrap  me 
up  against  the  knowledge  of  malicious  criticisms,  conduct 
my  correspondence,  receive  inconvenient  callers,  arrange 
my  interviews,  and  send  incessant  paragraphs  to  the  papers 
about  me,  commencing  Mrs.  John  Beveridge  (Andrew  Dib- 
din),  varied  by  Andrew  Dibdin  (Mrs.  John  Beveridge). 
Here  is  a  man  who  will  be  a  living  gratuitous  advertise- 
ment, inserted  daily  in  the  great  sheets  of  the  times,  a  stead- 
fast column  of  eulogy,  a  pillar  of  praise.  Here  is  a  man 
who  will  be  as  much  a  halo  as  a  husband.  When  I  enter 
a  drawing-room  with  him  (so  ran  my  innocent,  maiden 
dream)  there  will  be  a  thrill  of  excitement,  everybody  will 
cluster  round  me,  he  will  efface  himself  or  be  effaced,  and, 
even  if  he  finds  anybody  to  talk  to,  it  is  about  me  he  will 
talk.  Invitations  to  our  own  '  At  Homes  '  will  be  eagerly 
sought  for — not  for  his  sake,  but  for  mine.  All  that  is 
famous  in  literature  and  art  will  crowd  our  salon — not  for 
his  sake,  but  for  mine.  And  while  I  shall  be  the  cyno- 
sure of  every  eye,  it  will  be  his  to  note  down  the  names  of 
the  illustrious  gazers  in  society  paragraphs  beginning  Mrs. 
John  Beveridge  (Andrew  Dibdin),  alternating  with  Andrew 
Dibdin  (Mrs.  John  Beveridge).  And  am  I  to  give  up  all 
this,  merely  because  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  not !  "  he  said  passionately.     "  What  is  fame, 


122 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'H.  123 

reputation,  weighed  against  love  ?  What  is  it  to  be  on 
the  World's  lips,  if  the  lips  we  love  are  to  be  taken  away  ?  " 

"  How  pretty  !  "  she  said  with  simple  admiration.  "  If 
you  will  not  claim  the  phrase,  I  should  like  to  give  it  to 
my  next  heroine." 

"  Claim  it ! "  he  said  bitterly.  "  I  do  not  want  any 
phrases.  I  want  you." 

"  Do  you  not  see  it  is  impossible  ?  If  you  could  become 
obscure  again,  it  might  be.  You  say  fame  is  nothing 
weighed  against  love.  Come  now,  would  you  give  up 
your  genius,  your  reputation,  just  to  marry  me  ?  " 

He  was  silent. 

"  Come  !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  have  been  frank  with  you, 
have  I  not !  " 

"You  have,"  he  admitted,  with  a  melancholy  grimace. 

"  Well,  be  equally  frank  with  me.  Would  you  sacrifice 
these  things  to  your  love  for  me  ? " 

"  I  could  not  if  I  would." 

"  But  would  you,  if  you  could  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't,"  she  said.  "  I  know  you  as 
I  know  myself." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  thinking  of  what  can  never  be  !  " 
he  said  impatiently. 

"  Just  so.  That  is  what  I  say.  I  can  never  give  you 
my  hand  ;  so  give  me  yours  and  we'll  turn  homewards." 

He  gave  her  his  hand  and  she  jumped  lightly  to  her 
feet.  Then  he  got  up  and  shook  himself,  and  looked  still 
in  a  sort  of  daze,  at  the  gentle  face  and  the  dainty  figure. 

He  seized  her  passionately  by  the  arms. 

"  And  must  this  be  the  end  ? "  he  cried  hoarsely. 

"  Finis,"  she  said  decisively,  though  the  renewed  pallor 
of  her  face  showed  what  it  cost  her  to  complete  the  idyl. 

"  An  unhappy  ending?"  he  said  in  hopeless  interroga- 
tion. 


124  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'B. 

"  It  is  not  my  style,"  she  said  simply,  "  but,  after  all, 
this  is  only  real  life. 

He  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of  half  reproachful  regrets — 
he,  Addiper,  the  chaste,  the  severe,  the  self-contained. 

"  And  you  the  sweet,  innocent  girl  who  won  the  heart  I 
no  longer  hoped  to  feel  living,  you  would  coldly  abandon 
the  love  for  whose  existence  you  are  responsible  !  You, 
who  were  to  be  so  fresh  and  pure  an  influence  on  my 
work,  are  content  to  deprive  literature  of  those  master- 
pieces our  union  would  have  called  into  being  !  Oh,  but 
you  cannot  unshackle  yourself  thus  from  my  life — for  good 
or  evil  your  meeting  with  me  determined  my  third  manner. 
Hitherto  I  thought  it  was  for  good ;  now  I  fear  it  will  be 
for  evil." 

"  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  all  your  manners,"  she 
said,  annoyed.  "  And  if  our  meeting  was  for  evil,  at  least 
our  parting  shall  be  for  good." 

John  Beveridge  and  Ellaline  Rand  spake  no  more,  but 
walked  home  in  silence  through  the  country  lanes  on 
which  the  sunlight  seemed  to  lie  cold.  The  past  was  put 
a  dream — not  for  these  two  the  simple  emotions  which 
cross  with  joy  or  sorrow  the  web  of  common  life.  At  the 
cottage  near  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the  sounds  and 
scents  of  the  sea  were  faintest,  they  parted.  The  idyl  of 
Trepolpen  was  ended. 

And  John  Beveridge  went  downhill. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


125 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

.MORE  ABOUT   THE  CHERUB, 

THE  trial  interview  between  Lord  Silverdale  and  Ella- 
line  Rand  took  place  in  the  rooms  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club 
in  the  presence  of  the  President.  Lillie,  encouraged  by 
the  rush  of  candidates,  occupied  herself  in  embroidering 
another  epigrammatic  antimacassar — "  It  is  man  who  is 
vain  of  woman's  dress."  She  had  deliberately  placed  her- 
self out  of  earshot.  To  Miss  Rand,  Lord  Silverdale  was 
a  casual  visitor  with  whom  she  had  drifted  into  conver- 
sation, yet  she  behaved  as  prettily  as  if  she  knew  she  was 
undergoing  the  viva-voce  portion  of  the  examination  for 
entranceship. 

There  are  two  classes  of  flirts — those  who  love  to  flirt, 
and  those  who  flirt  to  love.  There  is  little  to  be  said 
against  the  latter,  for  they  are  merely  experimenting.  They 
intend  to  fall  in  love,  but  they  can  hardly  compass  it  with- 
out preliminary  acquaintance,  an$  by  giving  themselves  a 
wide  and  varied  selection,  are  more  likely  to  discover  the 
fitting  object  of  affection.  It  is  easy  to  confound  both 
classes  of  flirts  together,  and  heartbroken  lovers  generally 
do  so,  when  they  do  not  use  a  stronger  expression.  But 
so  far  as  Lord  Silverdale  could  tell,  there  was  nothing  in 
Miss  Rand's  behavior  to  justify  him  in  relegating  her 
to  either  class,  or  to  nntake  him  doubt  the  genuineness  of 
the  anti-hymeneal  feelings  provoked  by  her  disappoint- 


126  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

ment  in  Trepolpen.  Her  manner  was  simple  and  artless 
— she  gushed,  indeed,  but  charmingly,  like  a  daintily  sculp- 
tured figure  on  a  marble  fountain  in  a  fair  pleasaunce. 
You  could  be  as  little  offended  by  her  gush,  as  by  her 
candid  confessions  of  her  own  talents.  The  Lord  had 
given  her  a  good  conceit  of  herself,  and  given  it  her  so 
gracefully,  that  it  was  one  of  her  chiefest  charms.  She 
spoke  with  his  lordship  of  Shakespeare  and  others  of  her 
profession,  and  mentioned  that  she  was  about  to  establish 
a  paper  called  The  Cherub,  after  her  popular  story  77/6' 
Cherub  That  Sits  Up  Aloft. 

"  I  want  to  get  into  closer  touch  with  my  readers,"  she  ex- 
plained, helping  herself  charmingly  to  the  chocolate  creams. 
"  In  a  book,  you  cannot  get  into  direct  rapport  with  your 
public.  Your  characters  are  your  rivals  and  distract  atten- 
tion from  the  personality  of  the  author.  In  a  journal  I  shall 
be  able  to  chat  with  them  freely,  open  my  heart  to  them  and 
gather  them  to  it.  There  is  a  legitimate  curiosity  to  learn 
all  about  me — the  same  curiosity  that  I  feel  about  other 
authors.  Why  should  I  allow  myself  to  be  viewed  in  the 
refracting  medium  of  alien  ink  ?  Let  me  sketch  myself  to 
my  readers,  tell  them  what  I  eat  and  drink,  and  how  I 
write,  and  when,  what  clothes  I  wear  and  how  much  I  pay 
for  them,  what  I  think  of  this  or  that  book  of  mine,  of  this 
or  that  character  of  my  creation,  what  my  friends  think  of 
me,  and  what  I  think  of  my  friends.  All  the  features  of  the 
paper  will  combine  to  make  my  face.  I  shall  occupy  all  the 
stories,  and  every  column  will  have  me  at  the  top.  In  this 
way  I  hope,  not  only  to  gratify  my  yearnings  for  sympathy, 
but  to  stimulate  the  circulation  of  my  books.  Nay  more, 
with  the  eye  of  my  admirers  thus  encouragingly  upon  me,  I 
shall  work  more  zealously.  You  see,  Lord  Silverdale,  we 
authors  are  a  race  apart — without  the  public  hanging  up- 
on our  words,  we  are  like  butterflies  in  a  London  fog,  or 
actors  playing  to  an  empty  auditorium." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  127 

"  I  have  noticed  that,"  said  Lord  Silverdale  dryly,  "  be- 
fore authors  succeed,  it  takes  them  a  year  to  write  a  book, 
after  they  succeed  it  takes  them  only  a  month." 

"  You  see  I  am  right,"  said  Ellaline  eagerly.  "  That's 
what  the  sun  of  public  sympathy  does.  It  ripens  work 
quickly." 

"  Yes,  and  when  the  sun  is  very  burning,  it  sometimes 
takes  the  authors  no  time  at  all." 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  laughing  at  me.  You  are  speaking 
of  'ghosts.'" 

"  Yes.  Ghost  stories  are  published  all  the  year  round 
— not  merely  at  Christmas.  Don't  think  I'm  finding  fault. 
I  look  upon  an  author  who  keeps  his  ghost,  as  I  do  on  a 
tradesmen  who  keeps  his  carriage.  It  is  a  sign  he  has 
succeeded." 

"  Oh,  but  it's  very  wicked,  giving  the  public  underweight 
like  that !  "  said  Ellaline  in  her  sweet,  serious  way.  "  How 
can  anybody  write  as  well  as  yourself  ?  But  why  I  men- 
tioned abut  The  Cherub  is  because  it  has  just  struck  me 
the  paper  might  become  the  organ  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club, 
for  I  should  make  a  point  of  speaking  freely  of  my  aims 
and  aspirations  in  joining  it.  I  presume  you  know  all 
about  Miss  Dulcimer's  scheme  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     But  I  don't  think  it  feasible.  " 

"  You  don't  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  little  tremor  of  astonish- 
ment in  her  voice.  "  And  why  not  ? "  She  looked  anx- 
iously into  his  eyes  for  the  reply. 

"  The  candidates  are  too  charming  to  remain  single," 
he  explained,  smiling. 

She  smiled  back  a  little  at  him,  those  sweet  gray  eyes 
still  looking  into  his. 

"  You  are  not  a  literary  man  ? "  she  said  irrelevantly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  plead  guilty  to  trying  to  be,"  he 
said.  "  The  evidence  is  down  in  black  and  white." 

The  smile  died  away  and  for  an  instant  Ellaline's  brow 


128  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

went  into  black  for  it.  She  accepted  an  ice  from  Turple 
the  magnificent,  but  took  her  leave  shortly  afterwards, 
Lillie  promising  to  write  to  her. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  President  when  she  was  left  alone 
with  the  Honorary  Trier. 

That  functionary  looked  dubious.  "  Up  till  the  very  last 
she  seemed  single-hearted  in  her  zeal.  Then  she  asked 
whether  /was  a  literary  man.  You  know  her  story.  What 
do  you  conclude  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  come  to  a  conclusion.  Do  you  think 
there  is  still  a  danger  of  her  marrying  to  get  someone  to 
advertise  her  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  depends  on  The  Cherub.  If  The  Cherub  is 
born  and  lives,  it  will  be  a  more  effectual  advertising 
medium  than  even  a  husband,  and  may  replace  him.  A 
paper  of  your  own  can  puff  you  rather  better  than  a  hus- 
band of  your  own,  it  has  a  larger  circulation  and  more 
opportunities.  An  authoress-editress,  her  worth  is  far 
above  rubies  !  Her  correspondents  praise  her  in  the  gates 
and  her  staff  shall  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed.  It  may 
well  be  that  she  will  arrive  at  that  stage  at  which  a  husband 
is  an  incubus  and  marriage  a  manacle.  In  that  day  the 
honor  of  the  Club  will  be  safe  in  her  hands." 

"  What  do  you  suggest  then  ?  "  said  Lillie  anxiously. 

"  That  you  wait  till  she  is  delivered  of  The  Cherub  be- 
fore deciding.  " 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied  resignedly.  "  Only  I  hope 
we  shall  be  able  to  admit  her.  Her  conception  of  the  use 
of  man  is  so  sublime  !  " 

Lord  Silverdale  smiled.  "  Ah,  if  the  truth  were  known," 
he  said,  "  I  daresay  it  would  be  that  pretty  women  regard 
man  merely  as  a  beast  of  draught  and  burden,  a  creature 
to  draw  their  checks  and  carry  their  cloaks.  " 

Lillie  answered,  "  And  men  look  on  pretty  women 
either  as  home  pets  or  as  drawing-room  decorations." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


129 


Silverdale  said  further,  "  I  do  not  look  on  you  as 
either.  " 

To  which,  Lillie,  "  Why  do  you  say  such  obvious 
things  ?  It  is  unworthy  of  you.  Have  you  anything 
worthy  of  you  in  your  pocket  to-day  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  your  hearing.  Just  a  little  poem  about 
another  Cherub." 

AN  ANCIENT  PASSION. 

Mine  is  no  passion  of  to-day, 

Upblazing  like  a  rocket, 
To-morrow  doomed  to  die  away 

And  leave  you  out  of  pocket. 

Nor  is  she  one  who  snared  my  love 

By  just  the  woman's  graces  : 
I  loved  her  when,  a  sucking  dove, 

She  cooed  and  made  grimaces. 

And  when  the  pretty  darling  cried, 

I  often  stooped  and  kissed  her, 
Though  cold  and  faint  her  lips  replied, 

As  though  she  were  my  sister. 

I  loved  her  long  but  loved  her  still 
When  she  discarded  long-clothes, 

Yet  here  if  she  had  had  her  will 
Would  this  romantic  song  close. 

For,  though  we  wandered  hand  in  hand, 

Companions  close  and  chronic, 
She  always  made  me  understand 

Her  motives  were  Platonic. 

She  said  me  "  Nay  "  with  merry  mien, 

Not  weeping  like  the  cayman, 
When  she  was  Mab,  the  Fairy  Queen, 

And  I  Tom  King,  highwayman. 
9 


130  THE  OLD  MASDS'  CLUB. 

'Twas  at  a  Children's  Fancy  Ball, 

I  got  that  first  rejection, 
It  did  not  kill  my  love  at  all 

But  heightened  its  complexion. 

My  love  to  tell,  when  she  grew  up, 

Necessitates  italics. 
Her  hair  was  like  the  buttercup 

(Corolla  not  the  calyx). 

Her  form  was  slim,  her  eye  was  bright, 

Her  mouth  a  jewel-casket, 
Her  hand  it  was  so  soft  and  white 

I  often  used  to  ask  it. 

And  so  from  year  to  year  I  wooed, 

My  passion  growing  fiercer, 
Though  she  in  modest  maiden  mood 

Addressed  me  as  "  My  dear  sir." 

At  twenty  she  was  still  as  coy, 

Her  heart  was  like  Diana's. 
The  future  held  for  me  no  joy, 

Save  smoking  choice  Havanas. 

At  last  my  perseverance  woke 

A  sweet  responsive  passion, 
And  of  her  love  for  me  she  spoke 

In  woman's  wordless  fashion. 

I  told  her,  when  her  speech  was  done, 

The  task  would  be  above  her 
To  make  a  happy  man  of  one 

Who  long  had  ceased  to  love  her. 

Lillie  put  on  an  innocently  analytical  frown.  "  I  think 
you  behaved  very  badly,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  might 
have  waited  a  little  longer." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Then  I  will  go  and  leave  you  to 
your  labors,"  said  Lord  Silverdale  with  his  wonted  irrel- 
evancy. 

Lillie  sat  for  a  long  time  with  pen  in  hand,  thinking 


TlfK  OLD  ATA  IDS'1  CLUB. 


*-3 


I3 2  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'B. 

without  writing.  As  a  change  from  writing  without  think- 
ing this  was  perhaps  a  relief. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  the  millionaire, 
stealing  in  upon  her  reflections. 

Lillie  started. 

"  I  am  not  Ellaline  Rand,"  she  said  smiling.  "  Wait 
till  The  Cherub  comes  out,  and  you  will  get  hers  at  that 
price." 

"  Was  Ellaline  the  girl  who  has  just  gone  ? " 

"  Did  you  see  her  ?     I  thought  you  were  gardening." 

"  So  I  was,  but  I  happened  to  go  into  the  dining-room 
for  a  moment  and  saw  her  from  the  window.  I  suppose 
she  will  be  here  often." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Lillie  dubiously. 

The  millionaire  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Miss  Eustasia  Pallas,"  announced  Turple  the  mag- 
nificent. 

"  A  new  candidate,  probably,"  said  the  President, 

"  Father,  you  must  go  and  play  in  the  garden." 

The  millionaire  left  the  room  meekly. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


133 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OF    WIVES   AND   THEIR    MISTRESSES. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Eustasia  Pallas.  "  You  misap- 
prehend me.  It  is  not  because  it  would  be  necessary  to 
have  a  husband  and  a  home  of  one's  own,  that  I  object 
to  marriage,  but  because  it  would  be  impossible  to  do 
without  servants.  While  a  girl  lives  at  home,  she  can 
cultivate  her  soul  while  her  mother  attends  to  the  menage. 
But  after  marriage,  the  higher  life  is  impossible.  You 
must  have  servants.  You  cannot  do  your  own  dirty  work 
— not  merely  because  it  is  dirty,  but  because  it  is  the  thief 
of  time.  You  can  hardly  get  literature,  music,  and 
religion  adequately  into  your  life  even  with  the  whole  day 
at  your  disposal ;  but  if  you  had  to  make  your  own  bed, 
too,  I  am  afraid  you  wouldn't  find  time  to  lie  on  it." 

"  Then  why  object  to  servants  ? "  inquired  Lillie. 

"  Because  servants  are  the  asphyxiators  of  the  soul. 
But  for  them  I  should  long  since  have  married." 

"  I  do  not  quite  follow  you.  Surely  if  you  had  servants 
to  relieve  you  of  all  the  grosser  duties,  the  spiritual  could 
then  claim  your  individual  attention." 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  pretty  theory.  It  sounds  very  plausible. 
In  practice,  alas !  it  does  not  work.  Like  the  servants.  I 
have  kept  my  eyes  open  almost  from  the  first  day  of  my 
life.  I  have  observed  my  mother's  household  and  other 
people's — I  speak  of  the  great  middle-classes,  mainly — 


I34  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCK. 

and  my  unalterable  conviction  is,  that  every  faithful  wife 
who  aspires  to  be  housekeeper  too,  becomes  the  servant 
of  her  servants.  They  rule  not  only  her  but  all  her 
thoughts.  Her  life  circles  round  them.  She  can  talk  of 
nothing  else.  Whether  she  visits,  or  is  visited,  servants 
are  the  staple  of  her  conversation.  Their  curious  habits 
and  customs,  their  love-affairs,  their  laches,  their  imperti- 
nences, these  gradually  become  the  whole  food  of  thought, 
ousting  every  higher  aim  and  idea.  I  have  watched  a  girl 
— my  bosom-friend  at  Girton — deteriorate  from  a  maiden 
to  a  wife,  from  a  wife  to  a  bondswoman.  First  she  talked 
Shelley,  then  Charley,  then  Mary  Ann.  Gradually  her 
soul  shrank.  She  lost  her  character.  She  became  a  mere 
parasite  on  the  servant's  kitchen,  a  slave  to  the  cook's 
drink  and  the  housemaid's  followers.  Those  who  knew 
my  mother  before  she  was  married  speak  of  her  as  a 
bright,  bonny  girl,  all  enthusiasm  and  energy,  interesting 
herself  in  all  the  life  of  her  day  and  even  taking  a  side  in 
politics.  But  when  I  knew  her,  she  was  haggard  and  nar- 
row. She  never  read,  nor  sang,  nor  played,  nor  went  to 
the  Academy.  The  greatest  historical  occurrences  left  her 
sympathies  untouched.  She  did  not  even  care  whether  Aus- 
tralia or  England  conquered  at  cricket,  or  whether  Brown- 
ing lived  or  died.  You  could  not  get  her  to  discuss  Whis- 
tler or  the  relations  of  Greek  drama  to  Gaiety  Burlesque, 
or  any  other  subject  that  interests  ordinary  human  beings. 
She  did  not  want  a  vote.  She  did  not  want  any  alteration 
in  the  divorce  laws.  She  did  not  want  Russia  to  be  a  free 
country  or  the  Empire  to  be  federated.  She  did  not  want 
darkest  England  to  be  supplied  with  lamps.  She  did  not 
want  the  working  classes  to  lead  better  and  nobler  lives. 
She  did  not  want  to  preserve  the  Commons  or  to  abolish 
the  House  of  Lords.  She  did  not  want  to  do  good  or 
even  to  be  happy.  All  she  wanted  was  a  cook  or  a  house- 
maid or  a  coachman,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  she  was 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUK.  135 

perpetually  asking  all  her  acquaintance  if  they  knew  of  a 
good  one,  or  had  heard  of  the  outrageous  behavior  of 
the  last. 

"  In  her  early  married  days,  my  father's  income  was  not 
a  twentieth  of  what  it  is  to-day,  and  so  she  was  fairly 
happy,  with  only  one  servant  to  tyrannize  over  her.  But 
she  always  had  hard  mistresses,  even  in  those  compara- 
tively easy  years.  Poor  mother !  One  scene  remains 
vividly  stamped  upon  my  mind.  We  had  a  girl  named 
Selina  who  would  not  get  up  in  the  morning.  We  had 
nothing  to  complain  of  in  the  time  of  her  going  to  bed — 
I  think  she  went  about  nine — but  the  earliest  she  ever  rose 
was  eight,  and  my  father  always  had  to  catch  the  eight- 
twenty  train  to  the  City,  so  you  may  imagine  how  much 
breakfast  he  got.  My  mother  spoke  to  Selina  about  it 
nearly  every  day  and  Selina  admitted  the  indictment.  She 
said  she  could  not  help  it,  she  seemed  to  dream  such  long 
dreams  and  never  wake  up  in  the  middle.  My  mother 
had  had  such  difficulty  in  getting  Selina  that  she  hesitated 
to  send  her  away  and  start  hunting  for  a  new  Selina,  but  the 
case  seemed  hopeless.  The  winter  came  on  and  we  took 
to  sending  Selina  to  bed  at  six  o'  clock,  that  my  father 
might  be  sure  of  a  hot  cup  of  coffee  before  leaving  home 
in  the  morning.  But  she  said  the  mornings  were  so  cold 
and  dark  it  was  impossible  to  get  out  of  bed,  though  she 
tried  very  hard  and  did  her  best.  I  think  she  spent  only 
nine  hours  out  of  bed  on  the  average.  My  father  gave  up 
the  hope  of  breakfast.  He  used  to  leave  by  an  earlier 
train  and  get  something  at  a  restaurant.  This  grieved  my 
mother  very  much — she  calculated  it  cost  her  a  bonnet  a 
month.  She  became  determined  to  convert  Selina  from 
the  error  of  her  ways.  She  told  me  she  was  going  to  ap- 
peal to  Selina's  higher  nature.  Reprimand  had  failed,  but 
the  soul  that  cannot  be  coerced  can  be  touched.  That 
was  in  the  days  when  my  mother  still  read  poetry  and  was 


136  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

semi-independent.  One  bleak  bitter  dawn  my  mother  rose 
shivering,  dressed  herself  and  went  down  into  the  kitchen, 
to  the  entire  disconcertion  of  the  chronology  of  the  black- 
beetles.  She  made  the  fire  and  put  the  kettle  on  to  boil 
and  swept  the  kitchen.  She  also  swept  the  breakfast-room 
and  lighted  the  fire  and  laid  the  breakfast.  Then  she  sat 
down,  put  on  a  saintly  expression  and  waited  for  Selina. 

"  An  hour  went  by,  but  Selina  did  not  make  her  appear- 
ance. The  first  half-hour  passed  quickly  because  my 
mother  was  busy  thinking  out  the  exact  phrases  in  which 
to  touch  her  higher  nature.  It  required  tact — a  single 
clumsy  turn  of  language — and  she  might  offend  Selina 
instead  of  elevating  her.  It  was  really  quite  a  literary 
effort,  the  adequate  expression  of  my  mother's  conception 
of  the  dignity  and  pathos  of  the  situation,  in  fact  it  was 
that  most  difficult  branch  of  literature,  the  dramatic,  for 
my  mother  constructed  the  entire  dialogue,  speaking  for 
Selina  as  well  as  for  herself.  Like  all  leading  ladies, 
especially  when  they  write  their  own  plays,  my  mother 
allotted  herself  the  "  tag,"  and  the  last  words  of  the 
dialogue  were  : — 

"  '  There  !  there  !  my  good  girl !  Dry  your  eyes.  The 
past  shall  be  forgotten.  From  to-morrow  a  new  life  shall 
begin.  Come,  Selina  !  drink  that  nice  hot  cup  of  tea — 
don't  cry  and  let  it  get  cold.  That's  right. 

"  The  second  half-hour  was  rather  slower,  my  mother 
listening  eagerly  for  Selina's  footsteps,  and  pricking  up 
her  ears  at  every  sound.  The  mice  ran  about  the  wain- 
scoting, the  kettle  sang  blithely,  the  little  flames  leaped  in 
the  grate,  the  kitchen  and  the  breakfast-room  were  cheer- 
ful and  cosy  and  redolent  of  the  goodly  savors  of  break- 
fast. A  pile  of  hot  toast  lay  upon  a  plate.  Only  Selina 
was  wanting. 

"  All  at  once  my  mother  heard  the  hall-door  bang,  and 
running  to  the  window  she  saw  a  figure  going  out  into  the 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'K.  137 

gray  freezing  fog.  It  was  my  father  hurrying  to  catch 
his  train.  In  the  excitement  of  the  experiment  my 
mother  had  forgotten  to  tell  him  that  for  this  morning  at 
least,  breakfast  could  be  had  at  home.  He  might  have 
had  such  beautiful  tea  and  coffee,  such  lovely  toast,  such 
exquisite  eggs,  and  there  he  was  hastening  along  in  the 
raw  air  on  an  empty  stomach.  My  mother  rapped  on  the 
panes  with  her  knuckles  but  my  father  was  late  and  did 
not  hear.  Her  own  soul  a  little  ruffled,  my  mother  sat 
down  again  in  the  kitchen  and  waited  for  Selina.  Grad- 
ually she  forgot  her  chagrin,  after  all  it  was  the  last  time 
my  father  would  ever  have  to  depart  breakfastless.  She 
went  over  the  dialogue  again,  polishing  it  up  and  adding 
little  touches. 

"  I  think  it  was  past  nine  when  Selina  left  her  bedroom, 
unwashed  and  rubbing  her  eyes.  By  that  time  my  mother 
had  thrice  resisted  the  temptation  to  go  up  and  shake  her, 
and  it  was  coming  on  a  fourth  time  when  she  heard 
Selina's  massive  footstep  on  the  stair.  Instantly  my 
mother's  irritation  ceased.  She  reassumed  her  look 
of  sublime  martyrdom.  She  had  spread  a  nice  white 
cloth  on  the  kitchen  table  and  Selina's  breakfast  stood 
appetizingly  upon  it.  Tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she 
thought  of  how  Selina  would  be  shaken  to  her  depths  by 
the  sight. 

"  Selina  threw  open  the  kitchen  door  with  a  peevish 
push,  for  she  disliked  having  to  get  up  early  in  these  cold, 
dark  winter  mornings  and  vented  her  irritation  even  upon 
insensitive  woodwork.  But  when  she  saw  the  deep  red 
glow  of  the  fire,  instead  of  the  dusky  chillness  of  the 
normal  morning  kitchen,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
rushing  forwards  warmed  her  hands  eagerly  at  the  flame. 

" '  Oh,  thank  you,  missus,'  she  said  with  genuine  grat- 
itude. 

"  Selina  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised.     But  my  mother 


138  THE  OL/>  MAIDS*  CLl'H. 

did.  She  became  confused  and  nervous.  She  forgot  her 
words,  as  if  from  an  attack  of  stage-fright.  There  was 
no  prompter  and  so  for  a  moment  my  mother  remained 
speechless. 

"  Selina,  having  warmed  her  hands  sufficiently,  drew  her 
chair  to  the  table  and  lifted  the  cosy  from  the  tea-pot. 

"'Why,  you've  let  it  get  cold,'  she  said  reproachfully, 
feeling  the  side  of  the  pot. 

"  This  was  more  than  my  mother  could  stand. 

"  '  It's  you  that  have  let  it  get  cold,'  she  cried  hotly. 

"  Now  this  was  pure  impromptu  '  gag,'  and  my  mother 
would  have  done  better  to  confine  herself  to  the  rehearsed 
dialogue. 

"  '  Oh,  missus  1 '  cried  Selina.  '  How  can  you  say  that  ? 
Why,  this  is  the  first  moment  I've  come  down.' 

" '  Yes,'  said  my  mother,  gladly  seizing  the  opportunity 
of  slipping  back  into  the  text.  '  Somebody  had  to  do  the 
work,  Selina.  In  this  world  no  work  can  go  undone.  If 
those  whose  duty  it  is  do  not  do  it,  it  must  fall  on  the 
shoulders  of  other  people.  That  is  why  I  got  up  at  seven 
this  morning  instead  of  you  and  have  tidied  up  the  place 
and  made  the  master's  breakfast.' 

"  '  That  was  real  good  of  you  ! '  exclaimed  Selina,  with 
impulsive  admiration. 

"  My  mother  began  to  feel  that  the  elaborate  set  piece 
was  going  off  in  a  damp  sort  of  way,  but  she  kept  up  her 
courage  and  her  saintly  expression  and  continued, 

"  '  It  was  freezing  when  I  got  out  of  my  warm  bed,  and 
before  I  could  get  the  fire  alight  here  I  almost  perished 
with  cold.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  have  laid  the 
seeds  of  consumption.' 

"  '  Ah,'  said  Selina  with  satisfaction.  "  Now  you  see 
what  I  have  had  to  put  up  with."  She  took  another 
piece  of  toast. 

"  Selina's  failure  to  give  the  cues  extremely  disconcerted 


THE  OLD  MAfDS'  CLUB. 


139 


my  mother.  Instead  of  being  able  to  make  the  high 
moral  remarks  she  had  intended,  she  was  forced  to  invent 
repartees  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  The  ethical  quality 
of  these  improvisations  was  distinctly  inferior. 

" '  But  you  are  paid  for  it,  I'm  not,'  she  retorted  sharply. 

"  '  I  know.  That  is  why  I  say  it  is  so  good  of  you,' 
replied  Selina,  with  inextinguishable  admiration.  '  But 
you'll  reap  the  benefit  of  it.  Now  that  I've  had  my  break- 
fast without  any  trouble  I  shall  be  able  to  go  about  my 
work  a  deal  better.  It's  such  a  struggle  to  get  up, 
I  assure  you,  missus,  it  tires  me  out  for  the  day.  Might 
I  have  another  egg  ? ' 

"  My  mother  savagely  pushed  her  another  egg. 

"  '  I'm  thinking  it  would  be  a  good  plan,'  said  Selina, 
meditatively  opening  the  egg  with  her  fingers, '  if  you  would 
get  up  instead  of  me  every  morning.  But  perhaps  that 
was  what  you  were  thinking  of.' 

" '  Oh,  you  would  like  me  to,  would  you  ? '  said  my 
mother. 

"  '  I  should  be  very  grateful,  I  should  indeed,'  said  Selina 
earnestly.  '  And  I'm  sure  the  work  would  be  better  done. 
There  don't  seem  to  be  a  speck  of  dust  anywhere,' — she 
rubbed  her  dirty  thumb  admiringly  along  the  dresser — 
'and  I'm  sure  the  tea  and  toast  are  lots  nicer  than  any 
I've  ever  made.' 

"  My  mother  waved  her  hand  deprecatingly,  but  Seliria 
continued  : 

" '  Oh  yes,  you  know  they  are.  You've  often  told  me  I 
was  no  use  at  all  in  the  kitchen.  I  don't  need  to  be  told 
of  my  shortcomings,  missus.  All  you  say  of  me  is  quite 
true.  You  would  be  ever  so  much  more  satisfied  if  you 
cooked  everything  yourself.  I'm  sure  you  would.' 

"  '  And  what  would  you  do  under  this  beautiful  scheme  ? ' 
inquired  my  mother  with  withering  sarcasm. 

" '  I   haven't  thought   of  that  yet,'  said  Selina  simply. 


140  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

'  But  no  doubt,  if  I  looked  around  carefully,  I  should  find 
something  to  occupy  me.  1  couldn't  be  long  out  of  work, 
I  feel  sure.' 

"  Well,  that  was  how  mother's  attempt  to  elevate  Selina 
by  moral  means  came  to  be  a  fiasco.  The  next  time  she 
tried  to  elevate  her,  it  was  by  physical  means.  My  mother 
left  the  suburb,  and  moved  to  a  London  flat  very  near  the 
sky.  She  had  given  up  hopes  of  improving  Selina's  matu- 
tinal habits,  and  made  the  breakfast  hour  later  through 
my  father  having  now  no  train  to  catch,  but  she  thought 
she  would  cure  her  of  followers.  Selina's  flirtations  were 
not  confined  to  our  tradespeople  and  the  local  constab- 
ulary. She  would  exchange  remarks  about  the  weather 
with  the  most  casual  pedestrian  in  trousers.  My  mother 
thought  she  would  remove  her  from  danger  by  raising  her 
high  above  all  earthly  temptations.  We  made  the  trades- 
men send  up  their  goods  by  lift  and  the  only  person  she 
could  flirt  with  was  the  old  lift  attendant.  My  father 
grumbled  a  good  deal  in  the  early  days  because  the  lift 
was  always  at  the  other  extreme  when  he  wanted  it,  but 
Selina's  moral  welfare  came  before  all  other  considera- 
tions. 

"  By  and  by  they  began  to  renovate  the  exterior  of  the 
adjoining  mansion.  They  put  up  a  scaffolding,  which 
grew  higher  and  higher  as  the  work  advanced,  and  men 
swarmed  upon  it.  At  first  my  mother  contemplated  them 
with  equanimity  because  they  were  British  working-men 
and  we  were  nearest  heaven.  But  as  the  months  went  by, 
they  began  to  get  nearer  and  nearer.  There  came  a  time 
when  Selina's  smile  was  distinctly  visible  to  the  man 
engaged  on  the  section  of  the  scaffolding  immediately 
below.  That  smile  encouraged  him.  It  seemed  to  say 
'  Excelsior.'  He  was  a  veritable  Don  Juan,  that  laborer. 
At  every  flat  he  flirted  with  the  maid  in  possession.  By 
counting  the  storeys  in  our  mansion  you  could  calculate 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  141 

the  number  of  his  amours.  With  every  rise  he  left  a  love- 
passage  behind  him.  He  was  a  typical  man — always  look- 
ing higher,  and,  when  he  had  raised  himself  to  a  more 
elevated  position,  spurning  yesterday's  love  from  beneath 
his  feet.  He  seemed  to  mount  on  broken  hearts.  And 
now  he  was  aspiring  to  the  highest  of  all — Selina.  Oh  it 
is  cruel!  My  mother  had  secluded  Selina  like  a  virgin 
Princess  in  an  enchanted  inaccessible  tower  and  yet  here 
was  the  Prince  calmly  scaling  the  tower,  without  any  possi- 
bility of  interference.  Long  before  he  had  reached  the 
top  the  consumption  of  Bass  in  our  flat  went  up  by  leaps 
and  bounds.  Selina,  my  mother  ultimately  discovered, 
used  to  lower  the  beer  by  strings.  It  appeared,  moreover, 
that  she  had  two  strings  to  her  bow,  for  a  swain  in  a  slouch 
hat  had  been  likewise  climbing  the  height,  at  an  insidious 
angle  which  had  screened  him  from  my  mother's  obser- 
vation hitherto.  Neither  of  these  men  did  much  work,  but 
it  made  them  very  thirsty. 

"  That  destroyed  the  last  vestige  of  my  mother's  faith  in 
Selina's  soul.  Like  all  disappointed  women,  she  became 
crabbed  and  cynical.  When  my  father's  rising  fortunes 
brought  her  more  and  more  under  the  dominion  of  ser- 
vants, the  exposure  and  out-manoeuvring  of  her  taskmasters 
came  to  be  the  only  pleasure  of  her  life.  She  spent  a 
great  deal  of  time  in  the  police-courts — the  constant  pros- 
ecution she  suffered  from,  curtailed  the  last  relics  of  her 
leisure.  Everybody  has  heard  of  the  law's  delay,  but  few 
know  how  much  time  prosecutors  have  to  lose,  hanging 
about  the  Court  waiting  for  their  case  to  be  called.  When 
a  servant  robbed  her,  my  mother  rarely  got  off  with  less 
than  seven  days.  The  moment  she  had  engaged  a  ser- 
vant, she  became  morbidly  suspicious  of  him  or  her. 
Often,  when  she  had  dressed  for  dinner,  it  would  suddenly 
strike  her  that  if  she  ransacked  a  certain  cupboard  some- 
thing or  other  would  be  discovered,  and  off  she  would  go 


142 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


Lowering  the  Beer, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  143 

to  spoil  her  spotless  silks.  She  had  a  mania  for  '  Spring 
cleanings '  once  a  month,  so  as  to  keep  the  drones  busy. 
Often  I  would  bring  a  friend  home,  only  to  find  the  dining- 
room  in  the  hall  and  the  drawing-room  on  the  landing. 
And  yet  to  the  end  she  retained  a  certain  guileless,  girlish 
simplicity — a  fresh  fund  of  hope  which  was  not  without  a 
charm  and  pathos  of  its  own.  To  the  very  last  she  be- 
lieved that  faultless,  flawless  servants  existed  somewhere 
and  she  didn't  intend  to  be  happy  till  she  got  them ;  so 
that  it  was  said  of  her  by  my  sister's  intended  that  she 
passed  her  life  on  the  doorstep,  either  receiving  an  angel 
or  expelling  a  fiend.  It  showed  what  a  fine  trustful  nature 
had  been  turned  to  gall.  She  is  at  rest  now,  poor  mother, 
her  life's  long  slavery  ended  by  the  soft  touch  of  all-merci- 
ful Death.  Let  us  hope  that  she  has  opened  her  sorrow- 
stricken  eyes  on  a  brighter  land,  where  earthly  distinctions 
are  annulled  and  the  poor  heavy-laden  mistress  may  mix 
on  equal  terms  with  the  radiant  parlor-maid  and  the 
buxom  cook." 

The  tears  were  in  Lillie's  eyes  as  Miss  Eustasia  Pallas 
concluded  her  affecting  recital. 

"  But  don't  you  think,"  said  the  President,  conquering 
her  emotion,  "  that  with  such  an  awful  example  in  your 
memory,  you  could  never  yourself  sink  into  such  a  serfage, 
even  if  you  married  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not  trust  myself,"  said  Eustasia.  "I  have  seen 
the  fall  of  too  many  other  women.  Why  should  I  expect 
immunity  from  the  general  fate  ?  I  think  myself  strong 
— but  who  can  fathom  her  own  weakness.  Why,  I  have 
actually  been  talking  servants  to  you  all  the  time.  Think 
how  continuous  is  the  temptation,  how  subtle.  Were  it 
not  better  to  possess  my  soul  in  peace  and  to  cultivate  it 
nobly  and  wisely  and  become  a  shining  light  of  the  higher 
spinsterhood  ?  " 

Eustasia  passed  the  preliminary  examination   and  also 


144  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

the  viva  voce,  and  Lillie  was  again  in  high  feather.  But 
before  the  election  was  formally  confirmed,  she  was  cha- 
grined to  receive  the  following  letter. 

"  Mv  DEAR  Miss  DULCIMER. 

"  I  have  good  news  for  you.  Knowing  your  anxiety  to 
find  for  me  a  way  out  of  my  matrimonial  dilemma,  I  am 
pleased  to  be  able  to  inform  you  that  it  has  been  found  by 
my  friend  and  literary  adviser,  Percy  Swinshel  Spatt,  the 
well  known  philosopher  and  idealist.  I  met  him  writing 
down  his  thoughts  in  Bond  Street.  In  the  course  of  a 
dialogue  upon  the  Beautiful,  I  put  my  puzzle  to  him  and  he 
solved  it  in  a  moment.  '  Why  must  you  keep  a  servant  ? '  he 
asked,  for  it  is  his  habit  to  question  every  statement  he 
does  not  make.  '  Why  not  rather  keep  a  mistress  ?  Be- 
come a  servant  yourself  and  all  your  difficulties  vanish.' 
It  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  'Yes,'  I  said,  when  I  had 
recovered  from  the  dazzle, '  but  that  would  mean  separation 
from  my  husband/  'Why?'  he  replied  with  his  usual 
habit.  '  In  many  houses  they  prefer  to  take  married  cou- 
ples.' '  Ah,  but  where  should  I  find  a  man  of  like  mind,  a 
man  to  whom  leisure  for  the  cultivation  of  his  soul  was 
the  one  great  necessity  of  life  ? '  '  It  is  a  curious  coinci- 
dence, Eustasia,'  he  replied,  '  that  I  was  just  myself  con- 
templating keeping  a  master  and  retiring  into  a  hermitage 
below  stairs,  to  devote  myself  to  philosophical  contempla- 
tion. As  a  butler  or  a  footman  in  a  really  aristocratic 
establishment,  my  duties  would  be  nominal,  and  the  other 
servants  and  my  employers  would  attend  to  all  my  wants. 
Abstract  speculation  would  naturally  indue  me  with  the 
grave  silence  and  dignity  which  seem  to  be  the  chief  duties 
of  these  superior  creatures.  It  is  possible,  Eustasia,  that 
I  am  not  the  first  to  perceive  the  advantages  of  this  way 
of  living  and  that  plush  is  but  the  disguise  of  the  philoso- 
pher. As  for  you,  Eustasia,  you  could  become  a  parlor- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


'45 


maid.  Thus  we  should  live  together  peacefully,  with  no 
sordid  housekeeping  cares,  no  squalid  interests  in  rates  or 
taxes,  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  the  higher  life.'  '  You 
light  up  for  me  perspectives  of  Paradise,'  I  cried  enthusi- 
astically. '  Then  let  us  get  the  key  of  the  garden  at  once,' 
he  replied  rapturously,  and  turning  over  a  new  leaf  of  his 
philosophical  note-book,  he  set  to  work  then  and  there  to 
draw  up  the  advertisement:  '  Wanted — by  a  young  mar- 


Drev)  up  the  Advertsement. 


ried  couple,  etc.'  Of  course  we  had  to  be  a  little  previous, 
because  I  could  not  consent  to  marry  him  unless  we  had 
a  situation  to  go  to.  We  were  only  putting  what  the  Greek 
grammars  call  a  proleptic  construction  upon  the  situation, 

10 


146  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

Well,  it  seems  good  servants  are  so  scarce  we  got  a  place 
at  once — the  exact  thing  we  were  looking  for.  We  are 
concealing  our  real  names  (lest  the  profession  be  overrun 
by  jealous  friends  from  Newnham  and  Girton  and  Oxford 
and  Cambridge)  so  that  I  was  able  to  give  Percy  a  character 
and  Percy  to  give  me  a  character.  We  are  going  into  our 
place  next  Monday  afternoon,  so,  to  avoid  obtaining  the 
situation  by  false  pretences,  we  shall  have  to  go  before 
the  Registrar  on  the  Monday  morning.  Our  honeymoon 
will  be  spent  in  the  delightful  and  unexploited  retreat  of 
the  back  kitchen. 

"  Yours,  in  the  higher  sisterhood, 

"  EUSTASIA  PALLAS." 


TJLE  OLD  MAWS*  CLUB.  147 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  GOOD   YOUNG  MEN  WHO  LIVED. 

"  IT  is,  indeed,  a  happy  solution,"  said  Lord  Silverdale 
enviously.  "  To  spend  your  life  in  the  service  of  other 
men,  yet  to  save  it  for  yourself  !  It  reconciles  all  ideals." 

"Well,  you  can  very  easily  try  it,"  said  Lillie.  "I 
have  just  heard  from  the  Princess  of  Portman  Square — 
she  is  reorganizing  her  household  in  view  of  her  nuptials. 
Shall  I  write  you  a  recommendation  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  will  read  you  an  Address  to  an  Egyptian 
Tipcat,"  replied  his  lordship,  with  the  irrelevancy  v;hich 
was  growing  upon  him.  "  You  know  the  recent  excava- 
tions have  shown  that  the  little  Egyptians  used  to  play 
'  pussy-cat '  five  thousand  years  ago." 

ADDRESS  TO  AN  EGYPTIAN  TIP-CAT. 

And  thou  has  flown  about — how  strange  a  story — 
Full  five  and  forty  centuries  ago, 

Ere  Fayoum,  fired  with  military  glory, 

Received  from  Gurod,  with  purpureal  show, 
The  sea-born  captives  of  the  spear  and  bow  ; 

And  thou  has  blacked,  perhaps,  the  very  finest  eye 

That  sparkled  in  the  Twelfth  Egyptian  Dynasty. 

The  sight  of  thee  brings  visions  panoramic 
Of  manlier  games,  as  Faro,  Pyramids. 

What  hands,  now  tinct  with  substances  balsamic, 
Have  set  thee  leaping  like  the  sportive  kids, 
What  time  the  passers-by  did  close  their  lids  ? 

Did  the  stern  Priesthood  strive  thy  cult  to  smother, 

Or  wast  thou  worshipped,  like  thy  purring  brother  ? 

Where  is  the  youth  by  whom  thou  v/ast  created 
And  tipped  profusely  ?     Doth  he  frisk  in  glee 
In  Aahlu,  or  lives  he,  transmigrated, 


148  /'///•-    O/./>  JA///M"   CLl'K. 

The  lower  life  Osiris  did  decree, 

Of  fowl,  or  fly,  or  fish,  or  fox,  or  flea  ? 
Or,  fallen  deeper,  is  he  politician, 
Stumping  the  land,  his  country's  quack  physician  ? 

Thou  Sphynx  in  wood,  unchanged,  serene,  immortal, 
How  many  States  and  Temples  have  decayed 

And  generations  passed  the  mystic  portal 

Whilst  thou,  still  young,  hast  gone  on  being  played  ? 
Say,  when  thy  popularity  shall  fade  ? 

And  art  thou — here's  my  last,  if  not  my  stiffest — 

As  good  a  bouncer  as  the  hieroglyphist  ? 

"  Why,  did  the  hieroglyphists  use  to  brag  ?  "  asked 
Lillie. 

"  Shamefully.  You  can  no  more  believe  in  their  state- 
ments than  in  epitaphs.  There  seems  something  pecul- 
iarly mendacious  about  stone  as  a  recording  medium.  Only 
it  must  be  admitted  on  behalf  of  the  hieroglyphists  that 
it  may  be  the  Egyptologists  who  are  the  braggers.  There 
never  was  an  ancient  inscription  which  is  not  capable  of 
being  taken  in  a  dozen  different  ways,  like  a  party-leader's 
speech.  Every  word  has  six  possible  meanings  and  half 
a  dozen  probable  ones.  The  savants  only  pretend  to  un- 
derstand the  stones." 

So  saying  Lord  Silverdale  took  his  departure.  On  the 
doorstep  he  met  a  young  lady  carrying  a  brown  paper 
parcel.  She  smiled  so  sweetly  at  him  that  he  raised  his 
hat  and  wondered  where  he  had  met  her. 

But  it  was  only  another  candidate.  She  faced  Turple 
the  magnificent  and  smiled  on,  unawed.  Turple  ended 
by  relaxing  his  muscles  a  whit,  then  ashamed  of  himself 
he  announced  gruffly,  "  Miss  Mary  Friscoe." 

After  the  preliminary  formalities,  and  after  having 
duly  assured  herself  that  there  was  no  male  ear  within 
earshot,  Miss  Friscoe  delivered  herself  of  the  following 
candid  confession. 

"  I  am  a  pretty  girl,  as  you  can  see.     I  wear  sweet  frocks 


/'//A    ()/./)  .1/.///AV'  CLL'H. 


T49 


and  smiles,  and  my  eyes  are  of  Heaven's  own  blue.  Men 
are  fond  of  gazing  into  them.  Men  are  so  artistic.  They 
admire  the  beautiful  and  tell  her  so.  Women  are  so  dif- 
ferent. I  have  overheard  my  girl  friends  call  me  '  that 
silly  little  flirt.' 

"  I  hold  that  any  woman  can  twist  any  man  round  her 
little  finger  or  his  arm  round  her  waist,  therefore  I  con- 
sider it  no  conceit  to  say  I  have  attracted  considerable 
attention.  If  I  had  accepted  all  the  offers  I  received, 
my  marriages  could  easily  have  filled  a  column  of  The 
Times.  I  know  there  are  women  who  think  that  men  are 
coarse,  unsentimental  creatures,  given  over  to  slang,  to- 
bacco, billiards,  betting,  brandies  and  sodas,  smoking-room 
stories,  flirtations  with  barmaids,  dress  and  general  de- 
pravity. But  the  women  who  say  or  write  that  are  soured 
creatures,  who  have  never  been  loved,  have  never  fathomed 
the  depth  and  purity  of  men's  souls. 

"  I  have  been  loved.  I  have  been  loved  much  and  often, 
and  I  speak  as  one  who  knows.  Man  is  the  most  maligned 
animal  in  creation.  He  is  the  least  gross  and  carnal  of 
creatures,  the  most  exquisitely  pure  and  refined  in  thought 
and  deed ;  the  most  capable  of  disinterested  devotion, 
salf-sacrifice,  chivalry,  tenderness.  Every  man  is  his  own 
Bayard. 

"  If  men  had  their  deserts  we  women — heartless,  frivolous, 
venal  creatures  that  we  are — would  go  down  on  our  knees 
to  them,  and  beg  them  to  marry  us.  I  am  a  woman  and 
again  I  speak  as  one  who  knows.  For  I  am  not  a  bad 
specimen  of  my  sex.  Even  my  best  friends  admit  I  am 
only  silly.  I  am  really  a  very  generous  and  kind-hearted 
little  thing.  I  never  keep  my  tailor  waiting  longer  than  a 
year,  I  have  made  quite  a  number  of  penwipers  for  the 
poor,  and  I  have  never  told  an  unnecessary  lie  in  my  life. 
I  give  a  great  deal  of  affection  to  my  mother  and  even  a 
little  assistance  in  the  household.  I  do  not  smoke  scented 


750  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLfJJ. 

cigarettes.  I  read  travels  and  biographies  as  well  as  novels, 
play  the  guitar  rather  well,  attend  a  Drawing  Class,  rise 
long  before  noon,  am  good-tempered,  wear  my  ball-dresses 
more  than  once,  turn  winter  dresses  into  spring  frocks  by 
stripping  off  the  fur  and  putting  on  galon,  and  diversify  my 
gowns  by  changing  the  sleeves.  In  short,  I  am  a  superior, 
thoroughly  domesticated  girl.  And  yet  I  have  never  met 
a  man  who  has  not  had  the  advantage  of  me  in  all  the 
virtues. 

"  There  was  George  Holly, — I  regret  I  cannot  mention 
my  lovers  in  Chronological  order,  but  my  memories  are  so 
vague,  they  all  seem  to  fuse  into  one  another.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  there  is  a  lack  of  distinctiveness  about  men 
— a  monotonous  goodness  which  has  its  charm  but  is  ex- 
tremely confusing.  One  thing  I  do  remember  though, 
about  George — at  least,  I  think  it  was  George.  His  mous- 
tache was  rather  bristly,  and  the  little  curled  tips  used  to 
tickle  one's  nose  comically.  I  was  very  disappointed  in 
George,  I  had  heard  such  a  lot  of  talk  about  him ;  but 
when  I  got  to  really  know  him  I  found  he  was  not  a  bit 
like  it.  How  I  came  to  really  know  him  was  like  this. 
'  Mary,'  he  said,  as  we  sat  on  the  stairs,  high  up,  so  as 
not  to  be  in  the  way  of  the  waiters.  '  Won't  you  say 
"  yes  "  and  make  me  the  happiest  man  alive  ?  Never  man 
loved  as  I  love  now.  Answer  me.  Do  not  torture  me 
with  suspense.'  I  was  silent ;  speechless  with  happiness 
to  think  that  I  had  won  this  true  manly  heart.  I  looked 
down  at  my  fan.  My  lips  were  forming  the  affirmative 
monosyllable,  when  George  continued  passionately, 

"  '  Ah,  Mary,  speak  !  Mary,  the  only  woman  I  ever 
loved.' 

"  I  turned  pale  with  emotion.     Tears  came  into  my  eyes. 

"  '  Is  this  true  ? '  I  articulated.  '  Am  I  really  the  only 
woman  you  ever  loved  ? ' 

" '  By  my  hopes  of  a  hereafter,  yes  ! '  George  was  a  bit 


THE  OLD  MA  I  Its'  CLUB.  151 

slangy  in  his  general  conversation.  The  shallow  world 
never  knew  the  poetry  he  could  rise  to.  '  This  is  the 
first  time  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  love,  Mary,  my  sweet, 
my  own.' 

" '  No,  not  your  own,'  I  interrupted  coldly,  for  my  heart 
was  like  ice  within  me.  '  I  belong  to  myself,  and  I  intend 
to.  Will  you  give  me  your  arm  into  the  ballroom — Mr. 
Daythorpe  must  be  looking  for  me  everywhere.' 

"  It  sounds  very  wicked  to  say  it,  I  know,  but  I  cannot 
delay  my  confession  longer.  I  love,  I  adore,  I  doat  on 
wicked  men,  men  who  love  not  wisely  but  too  well.  When 
I  learnt  history  at  school  I  could  always  answer  questions 
about  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  it  was  such  a  deliciously 
wicked  period.  I  love  Burns,  Lord  Byron,  De  Musset, 
Lovelace — all  the  nice  naughty  men  of  history  or  fiction. 
I  like  Ouida's  guardsman,  whose  love  is  a  tornado,  and 
Charlotte  Bronte's  Rochester,  and  Byron's  Don  Juan.  I 
hate,  I  detest  milksops.  And  a  good  man  always  seems 
to  me  a  milksop.  It  is  a  flaw — a  terrible  flaw  in  my  com- 
position, I  know — but  I  cannot  help  it.  It  makes  me 
miserable,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  Nature  will  out. 

"  That  was  how  I  came  to  find  George  out,  to  discover  he 
was  not  the  terrible  cavalier,  the  abandoned  squire  of 
dames  the  world  said  he  was.  His  reputation  was  purely 
bogus.  The  gossips  might  buzz,  but  I  had  it  on  the  high- 
est authority.  I  was  the  first  woman  he  had  ever  loved. 
What  pleasure  is  there  in  such  a  conquest  ?  It  grieved 
me  to  break  his  heart,  but  I  had  no  option. 

"  Daythorpe  was  another  fellow  who  taught  me  the  same 
lesson  of  the  purity  and  high  emotions  of  his  cruelly 
libelled  sex.  He,  too,  when  driven  into  a  corner  (far  from 
the  madding  crowd)  confessed  that  I  was  the  only  woman 
he  had  ever  loved.  I  have  tried  them  all — poets  and 
musicians,  barristers  and  business-men.  They  all  had  suf- 
fered from  the  same  incapacity  for  affection  till  they  met 


152  THE  OLD  MAIDS'   CLUB. 

me.  It  was  quite  pathetic  to  discover  how  truly  all  men 
were  brothers.  The  only  difference  was  that  while  some 
added  I  was  the  only  woman  they  ever  could  love,  others 
insisted  that  never  man  had  loved  before  as  they  did  now. 
The  latter  lovers  always  remind  me  of  advertisers  offering 
a  superior  article  to  anything  in  the  trade.  Nowhere  could 
I  meet  the  man  I  longed  for — the  man  who  had  lived  and 
loved.  Once  I  felt  stirrings  towards  a  handsome  young 
widower,  but  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  assure  me  he  had 
never  cared  for  his  first  wife.  After  that,  of  course,  he  had 
no  chance. 

"  Unable  to  discover  any  but  good  young  men,  I  resigned 
myself  perforce  to  spinsterhood.  I  resolved  to  cultivate 
only  Platonic  relations.  I  told  young  men  to  come  to  me 
and  tell  me  their  troubles.  I  encouraged  them  to  sit  at 
my  feet  and  confide  in  me  while  I  held  their  hands  to  give 
them  courage.  But  even  so  they  would  never  confess  any- 
thing worth  hearing,  and  if  they  did  love  anybody  it  invari- 
ably turned  out  to  be  me  and  me  only.  Yes,  I  grieve  to 
say  these  Platonic  young  men  were  just  as  good  as  the 
others  ;  leaving  out  the  audacity  of  their  proposing  to  me 
when  I  had  given  them  no  encouragement.  Here  again 
I  found  men  distressingly  alike.  They  are  constitution- 
ally unable  to  be  girls'  chums,  they  are  always  hankering 
to  convert  the  friendship  into  love.  Time  after  time  antici- 
pations of  a  genuine  comradeship  were  rudely  dispelled 
by  fatuous  philandering.  Yet  I  never  ceased  to  be  sur- 
prised, and  I  never  lost  hope.  Such,  I  suppose,  is  the 
simple  trustfulness  of  a  girl's  nature.  In  time  I  got  to 
know  when  the  explosion  was  coming,  and  this  deadened 
the  shock.  I  found  it  was  usually  preceded  by  suicidal 
remarks  of  a  retrospective  character.  My  comrades  would 
tell  me  of  their  past  lives,  of  the  days  when  the  world's 
oyster  was  yet  unopened  by  them.  In  those  dark  days 
(tears  of  self-pity  came  into  their  eyes  as  they  spoke  of 


THE  OLD  MAJDS'  CLUB. 


T53 


Platonic  Lave. 


/•//A'  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'H.    • 


them)  they  were  on  the  point  of  suicide — to  a  man.  Only, 
one  little  thing  always  came  to  save  them — their  first  brief, 
the  acceptance  of  their  first  article,  poem  or  song,  the 
opportune  deaths  of  aunts,  the  chance  hearing  of  an 
organ-note  rolling  through  the  portal  of  a  village  church 
on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  a  letter  from  an  old  schoolmaster. 
The  obvious  survival  of  the  narrators  rather  spoiled  the 
sensational  thrill  for  me,  but  they  themselves  were  always 
keenly  touched  by  the  story.  And  from  suicide  in  the 
past  to  suicide  in  the  future  was  an  easy  transition.  Alas, 
I  was  the  connecting  link.  They  loved  me — and  unless 
I  returned  their  love,  that  early  suicide  would  prove  to 
have  been  merely  postponed.  In  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion it  transpired  that  I  was  the  first  woman  they  had  ever 
loved.  I  remember  once  rejecting  on  this  account  two 
such  Platonic  failures,  within  ten  minutes  of  each  other. 
One  was  a  well-known  caricaturist,  and  the  other  was  the 

editor  of  a  lady's  paper. 
Each  left  me,  declaring 
his  heart  was  broken, 
that  I  had  led  him  on 
shamelessly,  that  I  was 
a  heartless  jilt  and  that 
he  would  go  and  kill 
himself.  My  brother 
Tom  accidentally  told 
me  he  saw  them  togeth- 
er about  an  hour  after- 
wards at  a  bar  in  the 
Strand,  asking  each 
other  what  was  their 
poison.  So  I  learnt 
that  they  had  spoken 

the  truth.  I  had  driven  them  to  drink.  And  accord- 
ing to  Tom  the  drink  at  this  particular  bar  is  su- 


Driven  to  Drink. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  155 

perior  to   strychnine.      He  says   men    always  take  it  in 
preference." 

"  And  have  you  then  finally  decided  to  abandon  Plato- 
nics ?  "  asked  Lillie,  when  the  flow  of  words  came  to  an 
end. 

"  Finally." 

"  And  you  have  decided  to  enroll  in  our  ranks  ?  " 

Miss  Mary  Friscoe  hesitated. 

"  Well  about  that  part  I'm  not  quite  so  certain.  To 
tell  the  truth,  there  is  one  young  man  of  my  acquaintance 
who  has  never  yet  proposed.  When  I  started  for  here  in 
disgust  at  the  goodness  of  mankind  I  forgot  him,  but  in 
talking  he  has  come  back  to  my  mind.  I  have  a  strong 
suspicion  he  is  quite  wicked.  He  is  always  painting 
actresses.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  unfair  to  him  to 
take  my  vows  without  giving  him  a  chance  ?  "  . 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Lillie  musingly,  "  perhaps  it  would. 
You  would  feel  easier  afterwards.  Otherwise  you  might 
always  reproach  yourself  with  the  thought  that  you  had 
perhaps  turned  away  from  a  bad  man's  love.  You  might 
feel  that  the  world  was  not  so  good  as  you  had  imagined 
in  your  girlish  cynicism,  and  then  you  might  regret  having 
joined  us." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Miss  Friscoe  eagerly.  "  But  he  shall 
be  the  very  last  man  I  will  listen  to." 

"  When  do  you  propose  to  be  proposed  to  by  him  ?  " 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  This  very  day,  if  you  like.  I 
am  going  straight  from  here  to  my  Drawing  Class." 

"  Very  well.  Then  you  will  come  to-morrow  and  tell 
me  your  final  decision  ?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

**::=**# 

Miss  Mary  Friscoe  arrived  at  the  Drawing  Class  late. 
Her  fellow  students  of  both  sexes  were  already  at  their 
easels  and  her  entry  distracted  everybody.  It  was  a  mot- 


156  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

ley  gathering,  working  in  motley  media — charcoal,  chalk, 
pencil,  oil,  water-color.  One  girl  was  modelling  in  clay, 
and  one  young  gentleman,  opera-glass  in  hand,  was  making 
enlarged  colored  copies  of  photographs.  It  was  this  young 
gentleman  that  Mary  came  out  for  to  see.  His  name  was 
Bertie  Smythe.  He  was  rich,  but  he  would  always  be  a 
poor  artist.  His  ambition  was  to  paint  the  nude. 

There  were  lilies  of  the  valley  in  the  bosom  of  Mary's 
art-gown,  and  when  she  arrived  she  unfolded  the  brown 
paper  parcel  she  carried  and  took  therefrom  a  cardboard 
box  containing  a  snow-white  collar  and  spotless  cuffs, 
which  she  proceeded  to  adjust  upon  her  person.  She 
then  went  to  the  drawing-board  rack  and  stood  helpless, 
unable  to  reach  down  her  board,  which  was  quite  two 
inches  above  her  head.  There  was  a  rush  of  embryo 
R.A.'S.  Those  who  failed  to  hand  her  the  board  got  down 
the  cast  and  dusted  it  for  her  and  fixed  it  up  according  to 
her  minute  and  detailed  directions,  and  adjusted  her  easel, 
and  brought  her  a  trestle,  and  lent  her  lead-pencils,  and 
cut  them  for  her,  and  gave  her  chunks  of  stale  bread,  for 
all  which  services  she  rewarded  them  with  bewitching 
smiles  and  profuse  thanks  and  a  thousand  apologies.  It 
took  her  a  long  time  getting  to  work  on  the  charcoal 
cluster  of  plums  which  had  occupied  her  ever  since  the 
commencement  of  the  term,  because  she  never  ventured 
to  commence  without  holding  long  confabulations  with 
her  fellow-students  as  to  whether  the  light  was  falling  in 
exactly  the  same  way  as  last  time.  She  got  them  to  cock 
their  heads  on  one  side  and  survey  the  sketch,  to  retreat 
and  look  at  it  knowingly,  to  measure  the  visual  angle  with 
a  stick  of  charcoal,  or  even  to  manipulate  delicately  the 
great  work  itself.  Meantime  she  fluttered  about  it, 
chattering,  alternately  enraptured  and  dissatisfied,  and 
when  at  last  she  started,  it  was  by  rubbing  everything  out. 

The  best  position  for  drawing  happened  to  be  next  to 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  157 

Bertie  Smythe.      That  artist  was  now  engaged  in  copying 
the  portrait  of  an  actress. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Smythe,"  said  Mary  suddenly,  in  a  con- 
fidential whisper.  "  I've  got  such  a  beautiful  face  for  you 
to  paint." 

"  I  know  you  have  ! "  flashed  Bertie,  in  the  same  in- 
timate tone. 

"  What  a  tease  you  are,  twisting  my  words  like  that," 
said  Mary,  rapping  him  playfully  on  the  knuckles  with  her 
mahl-stick.  "  You  know  what  I  mean  quite  well.  It's  a 
cousin  of  mine  in  the  country." 

"  I  see — it  runs  in  the  family,"  said  Bertie. 
.    "  What  runs  in  the  family  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Beautiful  faces,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  that's  too  bad  of  you,"  said  Mary  pouting.  You 
know  I  don't  like  compliments."  She  rubbed  a  pellet  of 
bread  fretfully  into  her  drawing. 

"  I  don't  pay  compliments.  I  tell  the  truth,"  said  Bertie, 
meeting  her  gaze  unflinchingly. 

"Oh,  look  at  that  funny  little  curl  Miss  Roberts  is 
wearing  to-night ! " 

"  Bother  Miss  Roberts.  When  are  you  going  to  let  me 
have  your  face  to  paint  ? " 

"  My  cousin's,  you  mean,"  said  Mary,  rubbing  away 
harder  than  ever. 

"  No,  I  don't.     I  mean  yours." 

"  I  never  give  away  photographs  to  gentlemen." 

"Well,  sit  to  me  then." 

"  Sit  to  you  !     Where  ? '' 

"  In  my  studio." 

"  Good  gracious  !     What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  You." 

"  Oh,  you  are  too  tiresome.  I  shall  never  get  this 
finished,"  grumbled  Mary,  concentrating  herself  so  vigor- 
ously on  the  drawing  that  she  absent-mindedly  erased  the 


158  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

last  vestiges  of  it.  She  took  up  her  plumb-line  and  held 
it  in  front  of  her  cast  and  became  absorbed  in  contem- 
plating it. 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question,  Miss  Friscoe," 
whispered  Bertie  pertinaciously. 

"  What  question  ?  " 

"  When  are  you  going  to  lend  me  your  face  ? " 

"  Look,  there's  Mr.  Biskett  going  home  already  !  " 

"  Hang  Mr.  Biskett !  I  say,  Mary "  he  began  pas- 
sionately. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on,  Mr.  Smythe  ?  "  came  the 
creaking  voice  of  Potts,  the  drawing-master,  behind  him. 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you  ;  how's  yourself?"  mechanically 
replied  Bertie,  greatly  flustered  by  his  inopportune 
arrival. 

Potts  stared  and  Mary  burst  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"  Look  at  my  drawing,  Mr.  Potts,"  she  said.  "  It  will 
come  so  funny." 

''  Why,  there's  nothing  there,"  said  Potts. 

"  Dear  me,  no  more  there  is,"  said  Mary.  "  1 — I  was 
entirely  dissatisfied  with  It.  You  might  just  sketch  it  in 
for  me." 

Potts  was  accustomed  to  doing  the  work  of  most  of  the 
lady  students.  They  used  to  let  him  do  a  little  bit  on 
each  of  his  rounds  till  the  thing  was  completed.  He  set 
to  work  on  Mary's  drawing,  leaving  her  to  finish  being 
proposed  to. 

"  And  you  really  love  me  ? "  Mary  was  saying,  while 
Potts  was  sketching  the  se'cond  plum. 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?  "  Bertie  whispered  tremulously. 

"  Yes,  I  do  doubt  it.  You  have  loved  so  many  girls, 
you  know.  Oh,  I  have  heard  all  about  your  conquests." 

She  thought  it  was  best  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns, 
and  her  breath  came  thick  and  fast  as  she  waited  for  the 
reply  that  would  make  or  mar  her  life. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  159 

Bertie's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  but "  he  began. 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know,"  she  interrupted  triumphantly. 
"  What  about  that  actress  you  are  painting  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Bertie.  "  If  you  say  '  yes,'  I  promise 
never  to  speak  to  her  again." 

"  And  you  will  give  up  your  bad  habits  ?  "  she  continued 
joyfully. 

"  Every  one.  Even  my  cigarettes,  if  you  say  the  word. 
My  whole  life  shall  be  devoted  to  making  you  happy. 
You  shall  never  hear  a  cross  word  from  my  lips." 

Mary's  face  fell,  her  lip  twitched.  What  was  the  use 
of  marrying  a  milksop  like  that  ?  Where  would  be  the 
fun  of  a  union  without  mutual  recriminations  and  sweet 
reconciliations  ?  She  even  began  to  doubt  whether  he 
was  wicked  after  all. 

"  Did  you  ever  really  love  that  actress  ?  "  she  whispered 
anxiously. 

"  No,  of  course  I  didn't,''  said  Bertie  soothingly.  "  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  have  never  spoken  to  her  in  my  life.  I 
bought  her  photo  in  the  Burlington  arcade  and  I  only 
talk  with  the  fellows  about  ballet  girls  in  order,  not  to  be 
behind  the  times.  I  never  knew  what  love  was  till  I  met 
you.  You  are  the  only " 

Crash  i  bang !  went  his  three-legged  easel,  upset  by 
Mary's  irrepressible  movement  of  pique.  The  eyes  of 
the  class  were  on  them  in  a  moment,  but  only  Mary  knew 
that  in  that  crash  her  last  hope  of  happiness  had  fallen, 

too. 

****** 

"  I  do  trust  Miss  Friscoe's  last  chance  will  not  prove  a 
blank  again,"  said  Lord  Silverdale,  when  Lillie  had  told 
him  of  the  poor  girl's  disappointments. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  President. 

"  Because  I  shrink  from  the  rira  TOCC  examination." 


160  THE  OLD  AfAfDS'  CLUB. 

"  Why  ? "  asked  the  President. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  so  dangerous." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  President. 

"  Because  I  have  loved  before.  I  shall  be  desperately 
in  love  with  another  woman  all  through  the  interview." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  but  you  are  inadmissible,"  said 
Lillie,  when  Miss  Friscoe  came  to  announce  her  willing- 
ness to  join  the  Club. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  candidate. 

"  Because  you  belong  to  an  art-class.  It  is  forbidden 
by  our  by-laws.  How  stupid  of  me  not  to  think  of  it  yes- 
terday !  " 

"But  I  am  ready  to  give  it  up." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  dream  of  allowing  that  on  any  account," 
said  the  President.  "I  hear  you  draw  so  well." 

So  Mary  never  went  before  the  Honorary  Trier. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  161 


CHAPTER  XL 

ADVENTURES  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  POLE. 

"  OH,  by  the  way,  Miss  Friscoe  will  not  trouble  you,  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear,"  said  Lillie,  lightly. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Silverdale.  "  Then  she  has  drawn  a 
prize  after  all !  I  cannot  say  as  much  for  the  young 
man.  I  hardly  think  she  is  a  credit  to  your  sex.  Some- 
how, she  reminded  me  of  a  woman  I  used  to  know,  and 
of  some  verses  I  wrote  upon  her." 

("  If  he  had  given  me  a  chance,  and  not  gone  on  to 
read  his  poetry  so  quickly,"  wrote  Lillie  in  her  diary  that 
night,  "  I  might  have  told  him  that  his  inference  about 
Miss  Friscoe  was  incorrect.  But  it  is  such  a  trifle — it  is 
not  worth  telling  him  now,  especially  as  he  practically 
intimated  she  would  have  been  an  undesirable  member, 
and  I  only  saved  him  the  trouble  of  trying  her.") 

Lord  Silverdale  read  his  verses  without  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  banjo,  an  instrument  too  frivolous  for  the 
tragic  muse. 

LA  FEMME  QUE  NE  RIT  PAS. 

It  was  fair  with  a  loveliness  mystic, 

Like  the  faces  that  Raphael  drew, 
Enigmatic,  intense,  cabalistic, 

But  surcharged  with  the  light  of  the  true : 
Such  a  face,  such  a  hauntingly  magic 

Incarnation  of  wistful  regret, 
It  was  tenebrous,  tender,  and  tragic, 

I  dream  of  it  yet. 

II 


162  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

And  there  lives  in  my  charmed  recollection, 

The  sweet  mouth  with  its  lips  cruelly  curled, 
As  with  bitter  ironic  rejection 

Of  the  gods  of  the  frivolous  world. 
Yet  not  even  disdain  on  her  features 

Was  enthroned,  for  a  heavenly  peace 
Often  linked  her  with  bright  seraph  creatures 

Or  statues  of  Greece. 

I  met  her  at  dinners  and  dances, 

Or  on  yachts  that  by  moonlight  went  trips, 
And  was  thrilled  by  her  marvellous  glances, 

And  the  sneer  or  repose  of  her  lips. 
Never  smile  o'er  her  features  did  play  light, 

Never  laughter  illumined  her  eyes  ; 
She  grew  to  seem  sundered  from  daylight 

And  sun-kindled  skies. 

Were  they  human  at  all,  these  dusk  glories 

Of  eyes  ?     And  their  owner,  was  she 
A  Swinburnian  Lady  Dolores, 

Or  a  sprite  from  some  shadowy  sea  ? 
A  Cassandra  at  sea-trip  and  soiree, 

Or  Proserpina  visiting  earth  ? 
Ah,  what  Harpy  pursued  her  as  quarry 

To  strangle  so  mirth  ? 

Ah,  but  now  I  am  wiser  and  sadder, 

And  my  spirit  can  never  again 
At  the  sight  of  your  fairness  feel  gladder, 

O  ladies,  who  coolly  obtain 
Our  enamelled  and  painted  complexion 

On  conditions  (which  really  are  "  style,") 
Yoii  must  nevet  by  day  risk  detection 

And  nevermore  smile. 


"  I  don't  see  where  the  connection  with  Miss  Friscoe 
comes  in,"  said  Lillie. 

"  No?  Why  simply  if  she  acquired  an  enamelled  com- 
plexion, it  might  be  the  salvation  of  her,  don't  you  see  ? 
Like  Henry  I.,  she  could  never  smile  again." 


TJJ1:   OLD  MAIDS'  ClA'H.  163 

Lillie  smiled.  Then  producing  a  manuscript,  she  said  : 
4i  I  think  you  will  be  interested  in  this  story  of  another  of 
the  candidates  who  applied  during  your  expedition  to  the 
clouds.  It  is  quite  unique,  and  for  amusement  I  have 
written  it  from  the  man's  point  of  view." 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  interrupted  the  millionaire,  popping 
his  head  through  the  door.  "  Are  there  any  Old  Maids 
here  ?  " 

"  Only  me,"  said  Lillie. 

"  Oh,  then,  I'll  call  another  time." 

"  No,  you  may  come  in,  father.  Lord  Silverdale  and  I 
have  finished  our  business  for  the  day.  You  can  take 
that  away  with  you  and  read  it  at  your  leisure,  Lord  Sil- 
verdale." 

The  millionaire  came  in,  but  without  empressement. 

That  night  Lord  Silverdale,  who  was  suffering  from 
insomnia,  took  the  manuscript  to  bed  with  him,  but  he 
could  not  sleep  till  he  had  finished  it. 

*  *  *  *  *  # 

I,  Anton  Mendoza,  bachelor,  born  thirty  years  ago  by 
the  grace  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  on  the  fete-fay  of  San  An- 
ton, patron  of  pigs  and  old  maids,  after  sundry  adven- 
tures by  sea  and  land,  found  myself  in  the  autumn  of 
last  year  in  the  pestiferous  atmosphere  of  London.  I 
had  picked  up  bad  English  and  a  good  sum  of  money  in 
South  America,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  two  was  enabled  to 
thread  my  way  through  the  mazes  of  the  metropolis.  I 
soon  tired  of  the  neighborhood  of  the  Alhambra  (in  the 
proximity  of  which  I  had  with  mistaken  patriotism  estab- 
lished myself),  for  the  wealthy  quarters  of  all  great  cities 
have  more  affinities  than  differences,  and  after  a  few  days 
of  sight-seeing  I  resolved  to  fare  forth  in  quest  of  the  real 
sights  of  London.  Mounting  the  box  of  the  first  omnibus 
that  came  along,  I  threw  the  reins  of  my  fortunes  into  the 
hands  of  the  driver,  and  drew  a  little  blue  ticket  from  the 


1 64  TJIE  OLD  MAIDs'  CLUB. 

lottery  of  fate.  I  scanned  the  slip  of  paper  curiously  and 
learned  therefrom  that  I  was  going  fast  to  "  The  Angel," 
which  I  shrewdly  divined  to  be  a  public-house,  knowing 
that  these  islanders  display  no  poetry  and  imagination 
save  in  connection  with  beer.  My  intuition  was  correct, 
and  though  it  was  the  forenoon  1  alighted  amid  a  double 
tstream  of  pedestrians,  the  one  branch  flowing  into  "  The 
Angel,"  and  the  other  issuing  therefrom.  Extricating 
myself,  I  looked  at  my  compass,  and  following  the  direc- 
tion of  the  needle  soon  found  myself  in  a  network  of  un- 
lovely streets.  For  an  hour  I  paced  forwards  without 
chancing  on  aught  of  interest,  save  many  weary  organ-grind- 
ers, seemingly  serenading  their  mistresses  with  upward 
glances  at  their  chamber-windows,  and  I  was  commencing 
to  fear  that  my  blue  ticket  would  prove  a  blank,  when  a 
savory  odor  of  garlic  struck  on  my  nostrils  and  apprised 
me  that  my  walk  had  given  me  an  appetite.  Glancing 
sideways  I  saw  a  door  swinging,  the  same  bearing  in 
painted  letters  on  the  glass  the  words  :  "  Menotti's  Restau- 
rant— Ici  on  parle  Francais."  It  looked  a  queer  little 
place,  and  the  little  back  street  into  which  I  had  strayed 
seemed  hardly  auspicious  of  cleanly  fare.  Still  the  jewel 
of  good  cookery  harbors  often  in  the  plainest  caskets, 
and  I  set  the  door  swinging  again  and  passed  into  a  nar- 
row room  walled  with  cracked  mirrors  and  furnished  with 
a  few  little  tables,  a  rusty  waiter,  and  a  proprietorial  look- 
ing person  perpetually  bent  over  a  speaking  tube.  As 
noon  was  barely  arrived,  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  the 
place  all  but  empty.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the  restau- 
rant I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  stout  dark  man  with  iron-gray 
whiskers.  I  thought  I  would  go  and  lunch  at  the  table  of 
the  solitary  customer  and  scrape  acquaintance,  and  thus 
perhaps  achieve  an  adventure.  But  hardly  had  I  seated 
myself  opposite  him  than  a  shock  traversed  his  face,  the 
morsel  he  had  just  swallowed  seemed  to  stick  in  his  throat, 


77/7:   OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'B.  165 

he  rose  coughing  violently,  and  clapping  his  palm  over  his 
mouth  with  the  fingers  spread  out  almost  as  if  he  wished 
to  hide  his  face,  turned  his  back  quickly,  seized  his  hat, 
threw  half-a-crown  to  the  waiter  and  scuttled  from  the 
establishment. 

I  was  considerably  surprised  at  his  abrupt  departure,  as 
if  I  had  brought  some  infection  with  me.  The  momentary 
glimpse  I  had  caught  of  his  face  had  convinced  me  I  had 
never  seen  it  before,  that  it  had  no  place  in  the  photo- 
graph album  of  my  brain,  though  now  it  would  be  fixed 
there  forever.  The  nose  hooked  itself  on  to  my  memory 
at  once.  It  must  be  that  he  had  mistaken  me  for  some- 
body else,  somebody  whom  he  had  reason  to  fear.  Per- 
haps he  was  a  criminal  and  imagined  me  a  detective.  I 
called  the  proprietor  and  inquired  of  him  in  French  who 
the  man  was  and  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  But  he 
shook  his  head  and  answered  :  "  That  man  there  puzzles 
me.  There  is  a  mystery  behind." 

"  Why,  has  he  done  anything  strange  before  to-day  ? " 

"  No,  not  precisely." 

"  How  then  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you.     He  comes  nere  once  a  year." 

"  Once  a  year  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  No  more.     This  has  been  going  on  for  twelve  years." 

"  What  are  you  telling  me  there  ?  "     I  murmured. 

"  It  is  true." 

"  But  how  have  you  remembered  him  from  year  to 
year  ?  " 

"  I  was  struck  by  his  face  and  his  air  the  very  first 
time.  He  seemed  anxious,  ill  at  ease,  worried.  He  left 
his  chop  half  eaten." 

"  Ha  !  "  I  murmured. 

"  Also  he  looks  different  from  most  of  my  clients. 
They  are  not  of  that  type.  Of  course  I  forget  him  im- 
mediately— it  is  not  my  affair.  But  when  he  comes  the 


i66 


THE  OLD  MAJDS'  CLUB. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLi'B.  167 

second  time  I  recall  him  on  the  instant,  though  a  year  has 
passed.  Again  he  looks  perturbed,  restless.  I  say  to 
myself :  '  Aha,  thou  art  not  a  happy  man,  there  is  some- 
thing which  preys  on  thy  mind.  However,  thy  money  is 
good  and  to  the  devil  with  the  rest.'  So  it  goes  on. 
After  three  or  four  visits  I  commence  to  look  out  for  him, 
and  I  discover  that  it  is  only  once  a  year  he  does  me  the 
honor  to  arrive.  There  are  twelve  years  that  I  know  him 
— I  have  seen  him  twelve  times." 

"  And  he  has  always  this  nervous  air  ? " 

"  Not  always.  That  varies.  Sometimes  he  appears 
calm,  sometimes  even  happy." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  your  fare,"  I  said  slily. 

"  Ah,  no,  monsieur,  that  does  not  vary.  It  is  always  of 
the  first  excellence." 

"  Does  he  always  come  on  the  same  date  ? " 

"  No,  monsieur.  There  is  the  puzzle.  It  is  never  ex- 
actly a  year  between  his  visits — sometimes  it  is  more, 
sometimes  it  is  less." 

"  There  is,  indeed,  the  puzzle,"  I  agreed.  "  If  it  were 
always  the  same  date,  it  would  be  a  clue.  Ah,  an  idea  ! 
He  comes  not  always  on  the  same  date  of  the  month,  but 
he  comes,  perhaps,  on  the  same  day  of  the  week,  eh  ?  " 

Again  the  proprietor  dashed  me  back  into  the  depths 
of  perplexity. 

"  No,"  he  said,  decisively.  'k  Monday,  Wednesday, 
Saturday, — it  is  all  the  same.  The  only  thing  that  changes 
not  is  the  man  and  his  dress.  Always  the  same  broad- 
cloth frock-coat  and  the  same  high  hat  and  the  same  seals 
at  the  heavy  watch-chain.  He  is  a  rich  man,  that  sees  it- 
self." 

I  wrinkled  my  brow  and  tugged  the  ends  of  my  mous- 
tache in  the  effort  to  find  a  solution.  The  proprietor 
tugged  the  ends  of  his  own  moustache  in  sympathetic 
silence. 


1 68  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Does  he  always  slink  out  if  anybody  sits  down  oppo- 
site to  him  ?  "  I  inquired  again. 

"  On  the  contrary.  He  talks  and  chats  quite  freely 
with  his  neighbors  when  there  are  any.  I  have  seen  his 
countenance  light  up  when  a  man  has  come  to  seat  him- 
self next  to  him." 

"  Then  to-day  is  the  first  time  he  has  behaved  so 
strangely  ?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

Again  I  was  silent.  I  looked  at  myself  curiously  in  the 
cracked  mirror. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  strange  in  my  appearance  ?  "  I 
asked  the  proprietor. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  said  the  proprietor,  shaking 
his  head  vigorously. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  echoed  the  waiter,  emphati- 
cally. 

"  Then  why  does  he  object  to  me,  when  he  doesn't  object 
to  anybody  else  ?  " 

"Pardon,"  said  the  proprietor.  "  It  is,  after  all,  but 
rarely  that  a  stranger  sits  at  his  table.  He  comes  ordi- 
narily so  early  for  his  lunch  that  my  clients  have  not  yet 
arrived,  and  I  have  only  the  honor  to  serve  an  accidental 
customer  like  yourself." 

"  Ah,  then,  there  is  some  regularity  about  the  time  of 
day  at  least  ? " 

"  Ah,  yes,  there  is  that,"  said  the  proprietor,  reflectively. 
"  But  even  here  there  is  no  hard  and  fast  line.  He  may 
be  an  hour  earlier,  he  may  be  an  hour  later." 

"What  a  droll  of  a  man !  "  I  said  laughing,  even  as  I 
wondered.  "  And  you  have  not  been  able  to  discover  any- 
thing about  him,  though  he  has  given  it  you  in  twelve  ? " 

"  It  is  not  my  affair,"  he  repeated,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"  You  know  not  his  name  even  ?  " 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  169 

"  How  should  I  know  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  very  well,  you  shall  see ! "  I  said,  buttoning  up 
my  coat  resolutely  and  rising  to  my  feet.  "  You  shall  see 
that  I  will  find  out  everything  in  once.  I,  a  stranger  in 
London,  who  love  the  oceans  and  the  forests  better  than 
the  cities,  I,  who  know  only  the  secrets  of  Nature,  behold, 
I  will  solve  you  this  mystery  of  humanity." 

"  As  monsieur  pleases,"  replied  the  proprietor.  "  For 
me  the  only  question  is  what  monsieur  will  have  for  his 
lunch." 

"  I  want  no  lunch,"  I  cried.  Then  seeing  his  downcast 
face  and  remembering  the  man  must  be  out  of  sight  by 
this  time  and  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  haste,  I  ordered 
some  broth  and  a  veal  and  ham  pie,  and  strode  to  the  door 
to  make  sure  there  was  no  immediate  chance  of  coming 
upon  him.  The  little  by-street  was  almost  deserted,  there 
was  not  a  sign  of  my  man.  I  returned  to  my  seat  and 
devoted  myself  to  my  inner  man  instead.  Then  I  rebut- 
toned  my  coat  afresh — though  with  less  facility — and  saun- 
tered out  joyously.  Now  at  last  I  had  found  something 
to  interest  me  in  London.  The  confidence  born  of  a  good 
meal  was  strong  in  my  bosom  as  I  pushed  those  swinging 
doors  open  and  cried  "  Au  revoir,"  to  my  host,  for  I 
designed  to  return  and  to  dazzle  him  with  my  exploits. 

"  Au  revoir,  monsieur,  a  thousand  thanks,"  cried  the 
proprietor,  popping  up  from  his  speaking-tube.  "  But 
where  are  you  going  ?  Where  do  you  hope  to  find  this 
man  ?  " 

"  I  go  not  to  find  the  man,"  I  replied  airily. 

"  Comment!"  he  exclaimed  in  his  astonishment. 

"  I  go  to  seek  the  woman,"  I  said  in  imposing  accents. 
And  waving  my  hand  amicably  I  sallied  forth  into  the 
dingy  little  street. 

But  alas  for  human  anticipations  !  The  whole  of  that 
day  I  paced  the  dead  and  alive  streets  of  North  London 


170  /'//A  OLD  MAIDS'  Cl.rB. 

without  striking  the  faintest  indication  of  a  trail.  After  a 
week's  futile  wanderings  I  began  to  realize  the  immensity 
of  the  English  metropolis — immense  not  only  by  its  actual 
area,  but  by  the  multiplicity  of  its  streets  and  windings, 
and  by  the  indifference  of  each  household  to  its  neighbors, 
which  makes  every  roof  the  cover  of  manifold  mysterious 
existences  and  potentialities.  To  look  for  a  needle  in  a 
bundle  of  hay  were  child's  play  to  the  task  of  finding  a  face 
in  a  London  suburb,  even  assuming  as  I  did  my  enigma 
lived  in  the  northern  district.  I  dared  not  return  to  ths 
restaurant  to  inquire  if  perchance  he  had  been  seen.  I 
was  ashamed  to  confess  myself  baffled.  I  shifted  my 
quarters  from  Leicester  Square  to  Green  Lanes  and  walked 
every  day  within  a  four  mile  radius  of  the  restaurant,  but 
fortune  turned  her  face  (and  his)  from  me  and  I  raged  at 
my  own  folly  in  undertaking  so  futile  a  quest.  At  last, 
"  Patience  !  "  I  cried.  "  Patience,  and  shuffle  the  cards !  " 
It  was  my  pet  proverb  when  off  the  track  of  anything.  To 
cut  yourself  adrift  from  the  old  plan  and  look  at  the  prob- 
lem with  new  eyes — that  was  my  recipe.  I  tried  it  by 
going  into  the  country  for  some  stag  hunting,  which  I  had 
ascertained  from  a  farmer  whom  I  met  in  a  coffee-house, 
could  be  obtained  in  some  of  the  villages  in  the  next  county. 
But  English  field-sports  I  found  little  to  my  taste,  for  the 
deer  had  been  unhorned  and  was  let  out  of  a  cart,  and  it 
was  only  playing  at  sport.  The  Holy  Mother  save  me 
from  such  bloodless  make-believe  !  Though  the  hunting 
season  was  in  full  swing  I  returned  in  disgust  to  the  tow.i, 
and  again  confiding  my  fortunes  to  a  common  or  garden 
omnibus,  I  surveyed  the  street  panorama  from  my  seat  on 
the  roof  till  the  vehicle  turned  round  for  the  backward 
journey.  This  time  I  found  myself  in  Canonbury,  a  dis- 
trict within  the  radius  I  had  previously  explored.  The 
coincidence  gave  me  fresh  hope — it  seemed  a  happy  aug- 
ury of  ultimate  success.  The  saints  would  guide  my  foot- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  171 

steps  after  all ;  for  he  who  wills  aught  intensely  cajoles 
Providence.  The  dusk  had  fallen  and  the  night  lamps 
had  been  lit  in  the  heavens  and  on  the  earth,  though  with- 
out imparting  cheerfulness  to  the  rigid  rows  of  highly  re- 
spectable houses.  I  walked  through  street  after  street 
of  gray  barracks,  tall  narrow  structures  holding  themselves 
with  the  military  stiffness  and  ranged  in  serried  columns, 
the  very  greenery  that  relieved  their  fronts  growing  sym- 
pathetically symmetrical  and  sombre.  I  sighed  for  my 
native  orange-groves,  I  longed  for  a  whiff  of  the  blue 
Mediterranean,  I  strove  to  recall  the  breezy  expanses  of  the 
South  American  Pampas  whence  I  had  come,  and  had  it 
not  been  for  the  interest  of  my  search,  I  should  have  fled 
like  St.  Anthony  from  the  lady,  though  for  very  opposite 
reasons.  It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  romance  should 
brood  behind  those  dull  facades  ;  the  grosser  spirit  of  prose 
seemed  to  shroud  them  as  in  a  fog. 

Suddenly,  as  I  paced  with  clogged  footsteps  in  these 
heavy  regions,  I  heard  a  voice  calling  somebody,  and  look- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  sound  I  could  not  but  fancy  it 
was  myself  whose  attention  was  sought.  A  gentleman 
standing  at  the  hall-door  of  one  of  the  houses,  at  the  top 
of  the  white  steps,  was  beckoning  in  my  direction.  I 
halted,  and  gazing  on  all  sides  ascertained  I  was  the  sole 
pedestrian.  Puzzled  as  to  what  he  could  want  of  me,  I 
tried  to  scan  his  features  by  the  rays  of  a  street  lamp  which 
faced  the  house  and  under  which  I  stood.  They  revealed 
a  pleasant  but  not  English-looking  face,  bearded  and 
bronzed,  but  they  revealed  nothing  as  to  the  owner's  de- 
signs. He  stood  there  still  beckoning,  and  the  latent 
hypnotism  of  the  appeal  drew  me  towards  the  gate.  I 
paused  with  my  hand  on  the  lock.  What  in  the  name  of 
all  the  saints  could  he  possibly  want  with  me  ?  I  had 
sundry  valuables  about  my  person,  but  then  they  included 
a  loaded  revolver,  so  why  refuse  the  adventure  ? 


172  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Do  come  in,"  he  said  in  English,  seeing  my  hesitation. 
"  We  are  only  wait  ing  for  you." 

The  mysterious  language  of  the  invitation  sealed  my  fate. 
Evidently  I  had  again  been  mistaken  for  somebody  else. 
Was  it  that  I  resembled  someone  this  man  knew  ?  If  so, 
it  would  probably  be  the  same  someone  the  other  man  had 
dreaded.  I  seemed  to  feel  the  end  of  a  clew  at  last,  the 
other  end  which  was  tied  to  him  I  sought.  Putting  my 
hand  to  my  breast  pocket  to  make  sure  it  held  my  pistol,  I 
drew  back  the  handle  of  the  gate  and  ascended  the  steps. 
There  was  an  expression  of  satisfaction  on  the  face  of  my 
inviter,  and,  turning  his  back  upon  me  he  threw  the  door 
wide  open  and  held  it  courteously  as  I  entered.  A  whiff 
of  warm  stuffy  air  smote  my  nostrils  as  I  stepped  into  the 
hall  where  an  india-rubber  plant  stood  upon  a  rack  heavily 
laden  with  overcoats.  My  host  preceded  me  a  few  paces 
and  opened  a  door  on  the  right.  A  confused  babble  of 
guttural  speech  broke  upon  my  ear,  and  over  his  shoulder 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  strange  scene — a  medley  of  swarthy 
men,  wearing  their  hats,  a  venerable-looking  old  man  who 
seemed  their  chief  being  prominent  in  a  grim,  black 
skull  cap  ;  there  was  a  strange  weird  wick  burning  in  a 
cup  of  oil  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  on  a  sofa  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  room  sat  a  beautiful  young  lady  weeping  silently. 

My  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Instinct  told  me  I  had 
found  the  woman.  I  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and 
entered. 

A  strange  look  of  relief  passed  over  the  faces  of  the 
company  as  I  entered.  Instinctively  I  removed  my  hat, 
but  he  who  had  summoned  me  deprecated  the  courtesy 
with  a  gesture,  remarking,  "We  are  commencing  at  once." 

I  stared  at  him,  more  puzzled  than  ever,  but  kept  silence 
lest  speech  should  betray  me  and  snatch  the  solution  from 
me  on  the  very  eve  of  my  arrival  at  it. 

It  was  gathering  in  my  mind  that  I  must  strikingly  re- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


'73 


1 accepted  the  strange  invitation. 


174  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

semble  one  of  the  band,  that  the  man  of  the  restaurant  had 
betrayed  us,  and  that  he  went  in  fear  of  our  vengeance. 
Only  thus  could  I  account  for  my  reception  both  by  him 
and  by  the  rest  of  the  gang. 

The  patriarchal-looking  chieftain  got  up  and  turned  his 
back  to  the  company,  as  if  surveying  them  through  the 
mirror.  He  then  addressed  them  at  great  length  with 
averted  face  in  a  strange  language,  the  others  following 
him  attentively  and  accompanying  his  remarks  with  an 
undercurrent  of  murmured  sympathy,  occasionally  break- 
ing out  into  loud  exclamations  of  assent  in  the  same  tongue. 
I  listened  with  all  my  ears,  but  could  not  form  the  least 
idea  as  to  what  the  language  was.  There  were  gutturals 
in  it  as  in  German,  but  I  can  always  detect  German  if  I 
cannot  understand  it.  There  was  never  a  word  which  had 
the  faintest  analogy  with  any  of  the  European  tongues.  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  it  was  a  patter  of  their  own.  The 
leader  spoke  hurriedly  for  the  most  part,  but  in  his  slower 
passages  there  was  a  rise  and  fall  of  the  voice  almost 
amounting  to  a  musical  inflection.  Near  the  end,  after 
an  emphatic  speech  frequently  interrupted  by  applause, 
he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper  and  a  hushed  silence 
fell  upon  the  room.  The  beautiful  girl  on  the  couch  got 
up  and,  holding  a  richly-bound  book  in  her  hand,  perused 
it  quietly.  Her  lovely  eyes  were  heavy  with  tears.  I 
drifted  upon  a  current  of  wonder  into  perusing  her  face, 
and  it  was  with  a  start  that,  at  the  sudden  resumption  of 
the  leader's  speech,  I  woke  from  my  dreams.  The  address 
came  to  a  final  close  soon  after,  and  then  another  member 
wound  up  the  proceedings  with  a  little  speech,  which  was 
received  with  great  enthusiasm. 

While  he  was  speaking,  I  studied  the  back  of  the  pa- 
triarch's head.  He  moved  it,  and  my  eyes  accidentally 
lighted  on  something  on  the  mantelpiece  which  sent  a  thrill 
through  my  whole  being.  It  was  a  photograph,  and  unless 


THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB.  175 

some  hallucination  tricked  my  vision,  the  photograph  of 
the  man  I  sought.  I  trembled  with  excitement.  My  in- 
stinct had  been  correct.  I  had  found  the  woman.  Saint 
Antony  had  guided  my  footsteps  aright.  The  company 
was  slowly  dispersing,  chatting  as  it  went.  Everybody 
took  leave  of  the  beautiful  girl,  who  had  by  this  time  dried 
her  eyes  and  resumed  the  queen.  I  should  have  to  go 
with  them,  and  without  an  inkling  of  comprehension  of 
what  had  passed  !  What  had  they  been  plotting  ?  What 
part  had  I  been  playing  in  these  uncanny  transactions  ? 
What  had  they  been  doing  to  bring  suffering  to  this  fair 
girl,  before  whom  all  bowed  in  mock  homage  ?  Was  she 
the  unwilling  accomplice  of  their  discreditable  designs  ? 
I  could  not  see  an  inch  in  the  bewildering  fog.  And  was 
I  to  depart  like  the  rest,  doomed  to  cudgel  my  brains  till 
they  ached  like  caned  schoolboys  ?  No,  my  duty  was 
clear.  A  gentle  creature  was  in  trouble — it  was  my  busi- 
ness to  stay  and  succor  her. 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  flashed  upon  me  that  she 
loved  the  man  who  had  betrayed  us,  that  she  had  pleaded 
with  fear  for  his  life,  and  that  her  petition  had  been  granted. 
The  solution  seemed  almost  complete,  yet  it  found  me  no 
more  willing  to  go.  Had  I  not  still  to  discover  for  what 
end  we  were  leagued  together  ? 

As  I  stood  motionless,  thus  musing,  the  minutes  and 
the  company  slipped  away.  I  was  left  with  the  man  of 
the  doorstep,  the  second  speaker,  and  the  beautiful 

girl- 
While  I  was  wondering  by  what  pretext  to  remain,  the 
second  speaker  came  up  to  me  and  said  cordially:  "W7e 
are  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming.     It  was  very  good 
of  you." 

His  English  was  that  of  a  native,  as  I  enviously  noted. 
He  was  a  young,  good-looking  fellow,  but,  as  I  gazed  at 
him,  a  vague  resemblance  to  the  stranger  of  the  restaurant 


176  THE  OLD  AfA/DS'  CLUB. 

and  to  the  photograph  on  the  mantelpiece  forced  itself 
on  my  attention. 

"  Oh,  it  was  no  trouble ;  no  trouble  at  all,"  I  remarked 
cheerfully.  "  I  will  come  again  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  this  is  our  last  might,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Saturday,  when  one  can  get  together  twenty  quite 
easily,  so  there  is  no  need  to  trouble  you,  as  you  perhaps 
do  not  reside  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do,"  I  hastened  to  correct  him. 

"  In  that  case  we  shall  be  very  pleased  to  see  you,"  he 
replied  readily.  "  I  don't  remember  seeing  you  before  in 
the  district.  I  presume  you  are  a  newcomer." 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  I  exclaimed  glibly,  secretly  more  puz- 
zled than  ever.  He  did  not  remember  seeing  me  before, 
nor  did  the  man  of  the  doorstep  vouchsafe  any  information 
as  to  my  identity.  Then  I  could  certainly  not  have  been 
mistaken  for  somebody  else.  And  yet — what  was  the 
meaning  of  that  significant  invitation  :  "  We  are  waiting 
only  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  stranger,"  he  replied.  "  I 
haven't  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  name." 

This  was  the  climax.  But  I  concealed  my  astonishment, 
having  always  found  the  nil  admirari  principle  the  safest 
in  enterprises  of  this  nature.  Should  I  tell  him  my  real 
name  ?  Yes,  why  not  ?  I  was  utterly  unknown  in  London, 
and  my  real  name  would  be  as  effective  a  disguise  as  a 
pseudonym. 

"  Mendoza,"  I  replied. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  man  of  the  doorstep.  "  Any  relation  to 
the  Mendozas  of  Highbury  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  I  replied,  with  an  air  of  reflection. 

"  Ah  well,"  said  the  second  speaker,  "  we  are  all 
brothers." 

"  And  sisters,"  I  remarked  gallantly,  bowing  to  the 
beautiful  maiden.  On  second  thoughts  it  struck  me  the 


7 HE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  177 

remark  was  rather  meaningless,  but  second  thoughts  have 
an  awkward  way  of  succeeding  firs);  thoughts,  which  some- 
times interferes  with  their  usefulness.  On  third  thoughts 
1  went  on  in  my  best  English,  "  May  I  in  return  be 
favored  with  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  name  ?  " 

The  second  speaker  smiled  in  a  melancholy  way  and 
said,  "  I  beg  you  pardon,  I  forgot  we  were  as  strange  to 
you  as  you  to  us.  My  name  is  Radowski,  Philip  Ra- 
clowski ;  this  is  my  friend  Martin,  and  this  my  sister 
Fanny." 

I  distributed  elaborate  bows  to  the  trinity. 

"  You  will  have  a  little  refreshment  before  you  go  ? " 
said  Fanny,  with  a  simple  charm  that  would  have  made  it 
impossible  to  refuse,  even  if  1  had  been  as  anxious  to  go 
as  I  was  to  stay. 

"  Oh  no,  I  could  not  think  of  troubling  you,"  I  replied 
warmly,  and  in  due  course  I  was  sipping  a  glass  of 
excellent  old  port  and  crumbling  a  macaroon. 

This  seemed  to  me  the  best  time  for  putting  out  a  feeler, 
and  I  remarked  lightly,  pointing  to  the  photograph  on  the 
mantelpiece,  "  I  did  not  see  that  gentleman  here  to-night." 
Instantly  a  portentous  expression  gathered  upon  all  the 
faces.  I  saw  I  had  said  the  wrong  thing.  The  beautiful 
Fanny's  mouth  quivered,  her  eyes  grew  wistful  and 
pathetic. 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Dead  ?  Her  father  ?  A  great  shock  of  horror  and  sur- 
prise traversed  my  frame.  His  secret  had  gone  with  him 
to  the  grave. 

"  Dead  ?  "  I  repeated  involuntarily.  "  Oh,  forgive  me,  I 
did  not  know." 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not.  I  understand  perfectly," 
put  in  her  brother  soothingly.  "  You  did  not  know  whom 
it  was  we  had  lost.  Yes,  it  was  our  father." 

"  Has  he  been  dead  long  ?  " 


178  THE  OLD  MAIDS*  CLUB. 

He  seemed  a  little  surprised  at  the  question,  but  an- 
swered :  "  It  is  he  we  are  mourning  now." 

I  nodded  my  head,  as  if  comprehending. 

"  Ah,  he  was  a  good  man,"  said  Martin.  "  I  wish  we 
were  all  so  sure  of  Heaven." 

"There  are  very  few  Jews  like  him  left,"  said  Fanny 
quietly. 

"  Alas,  he  was  one  of  the  pious  old  school,"  assented 
Martin,  shaking  his  head  dolefully. 

My  heart  was  thumping  violently  as  a  great  wave  of 
light  flooded  my  brain.  These  people  then  were  Jews — 
that  strange,  scattered  race  of  heretics  I  had  often  heard 
of,  but  never  before  come  into  contact  with  in  my  wild 
adventurous  existence.  The  strange  scene  I  had  wit- 
nessed was  not,  then,  a  meeting  of  conspirators,  but  a  reli- 
gious funereal  ceremonial ;  the  sorrow  of  Fanny  was  filial 
grief ;  the  address  of  the  venerable  old  man  a  Hebrew 
prayer-reading  ;  the  short  speech  of  Philip  Radowski 
probably  a  psalm  in  the  ancient  language  all  spoke  so 
ii  uently.  But  what  had  I  come  to  do  in  that  galley  ? 

All  these  thoughts  flashed  upon  me  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  There  was  scarce  a  pause  between  Martin's  ob- 
servation and  Radowski's  remark  that  followed  it. 

"  He  was,  indeed,  pious.  It  was  wonderful  how  he  with- 
stood the  influence  of  his  English  friends.  You  would 
never  imagine  he  left  Poland  quite  thirty  years  ago." 

So  I  had  found  the  Pole  !  But  was  it  too  late?  Any- 
how I  resolved  to  know  what  7  had  been  summoned  for  ? 
The  saints  spared  me  the  trouble  of  the  search. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Martin,  "  when  you  think  how  ready 
he  was  to  go  to  the  houses  of  mourners,  I  think  it  perfectly 
disgraceful  that  we  had  such  difficulty  in  getting  together 
ten  brother-Jews  for  the  services  in  his  memory.  But  for 
the  kindness  of  Mr.  Mendoza  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  have  done  to-night.  In  your  place,  Philip,  I  confess 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLt'H.  179 

I  should  have  felt  tempted  to  violate  the  law  altogether. 
I  can't  see  that  it  matters  to  the  Almighty  whether  you 
have  nine  men  or  ten  men  or  five  men.  And  I  don't  see 
why  Fanny  couldn't  count  in  quite  as  well  as  any  man." 

"  Oh  !  Martin,"  said  Fanny  with  a  shocked  look.  "  How 
can  you  talk  so  irreligiously  ?  Once  we  begin  to  break 
the  law  where  are  we  to  stop  ?  Jews  and  Christians  may 
as  well  intermarry  at  once."  Her  righteous  indignation 
was  beautiful  to  see. 

Two  things  were  clear  now.  First,  I  had  been  mistaken 
for  a  Jew,  probably  on  account  of  my  foreign  appearance. 
Secondly,  Fanny  would  never  wed  a  Christian.  But  for 
the  first  fact  I  would  have  regretted  the  second.  For  a 
third  thing  was  clear — that  I  loved  the  glorious  Jewess 
with  all  the  love  of  a  child  of  the  South.  We  are  not  tame 
rabbits,  we  Andalusians :  the  flash  from  beauty's  eye 
fires  our  blood  and  we  love  instantly  and  dare  greatly. 
My  heart  glowed  with  gratitude  to  my  patron  saint  for 
having  brought  about  the  mistake  ;  a  Jew  I  was  and  a  Jew 
I  would  remain. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Radowski,"  I  said,  "Jew 
and  Christian  might  as  well  intermarry  at  once." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Fanny,  turning  her 
lovely  orbs  towards  me.  "  Most  young  men  nowadays 
are  so  irreligious." 

Martin  darted  a  savage  glance  at  me.  I  saw  at  once 
how  the  land  lay.  He  was  either  engaged  to  my  darling 
or  a  fiance  in  the  making.  I  surveyed  him  impassively 
from  his  head  to  his  shoes  and  decided  to  stand  in  them. 
It  was  impossible  to  permit  a  man  of  such  dubious  reli- 
gious principles  to  link  his  life  with  a  spiritually-minded 
woman  like  Fanny.  Such  a  union  could  only  bring  un- 
happiness  to  both.  What  she  needed  was  a  good  pious 
Jew,  one  of  the  old  school.  With  the  help  of  the  saints 
I  vowed  to  supply  her  needs. 


l8o  Till-:  0/J)  MAIDS'  CLl'H. 

"  I  think  modern  young  women  are  quite  as  irreligious 
as  modern  young  men,"  retorted  Martin,  as  he  left  the 
room. 

"  Yes,  it  is  so,"  sighed  Fanny,  the  arrow  glancing  off 
unheeded.  Then,  uplifting  her  beautiful  eyes  heavenwards, 
she  murmured  :  "  Ah,  if  they  had  been  blessed  with  fathers 
like  mine." 

Martin,  who  had  only  gone  out  for  an  instant,  returned 
with  Fanny's  hat  and  a  feather  boa,  and  observing,  "  You 
must  really  take  a  walk  at  once — you  have  been  confined 
indoors  a  whole  week,"  helped  her  to  put  them  on.  I  felt 
sure  his  zeal  for  her  health  was  overbalanced  by  his  en- 
thusiasm for  my  departure.  I  could  not  very  well  attach 
myself  to  the  walking  party — especially  as  I  only  felt  an 
attachment  for  one  member  of  it.  Disregarding  the  inter- 
ruption I  remarked  in  tones  of  fervent  piety  : 

"  It  will  be  an  eternal  regret  to  me  that  I  missed  know- 
ing your  father." 

She  gave  me  a  grateful  look. 

"  Look  !  "  she  said,  seating  herself  on  the  sofa  for  a 
moment  and  picking  up  the  richly-bound  book  lying  upon 
it.  "  Look  at  the  motto  of  exhortation  he  wrote  in  my 
prayer-book  before  he  died.  Our  minister  says  it  is  in 
the  purest  Hebrew." 

I  went  to  her  side  and  leaned  over  the  richly-bound 
book,  which  appeared  to  be  printed  backwards,  and 
scanned  the  inscription  with  an  air  of  appreciation. 

"  Read  it,"  she  said.  "  Read  it  aloud  !  It  comforts  me 
to  hear  it." 

.  I  coughed  violently  and  felt  myself  growing  pale.  The 
eyes  of  Martin  were  upon  me  with  an  expression  that 
seemed  waiting  to  become  sardonic.  I  called  inwardly 
upon  the  Holy  Mother.  There  seemed  to  be  only  a  few 
words  and  after  a  second's  hesitation  I  murmured  some- 
thing in  my  most  inarticulate  manner,  producing  some 


THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 


181 


"  Read  ii  aloud?  she  said.     "  It  comforts  me 


1 82  ,        TJ1E  OLD  MA  JDS'  CU'li. 

sounds  approximately  like  those  I  had  heard  during  the 
service. 

Fanny  locked  up  at  me,  puzzled. 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  pronunciation,"  she  said. 

I  felt  ready  to  sink  into  the  sofa. 

"  Ah,  I  am  not  surprised,"  put  in  her  brother.  "  From 
Mr.  Mendoza's  name  and  appearance  I  should  take  him 
to  be  a  Sephardi  like  the  Mendozas  of  Highbury.  They 
pronounce  quite  differently  from  us,  Fanny." 

I  commended  him  to  the  grace  of  the  Virgin. 

"  That  is  so,"  I  admitted.  "  And  I  found  it  not  at  all 
easy  to  follow  your  services." 

"  Are  you  an  English  Sephardi  or  a  native  Sephardi  ?  " 
asked  Martin. 

"  A  native  !  "  I  replied  readily.  "  I  was  born  there." 
Where  "  there  "  was  I  had  no  idea. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Fanny,  looking  so  sweetly  into 
my  face,  "  I  should  like  to  see  your  country.  Spain  has 
always  seemed  to  me  so  romantic,  and  I  dote  on  Spanish 
olives." 

I  was  delighted  to  find  I  had  spoken  the  truth  as  to  my 
nativity. 

"  I  shall  be  charmed  to  escort  you,"  I  said,  smiling. 

She  smiled  in  response. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  go  anywhere  nowadays,"  said 
Martin  surlily. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  to  the  devil,"  I  thought.  "  That 
would  certainly  be  easy  enough." 

But  it  would  have  been  premature  to  force  my  own 
company  upon  Fanny  any  longer.  I  relied  upon  the 
presence  of  death  and  her  brother  to  hinder  Martin's  suit 
from  developing  beyond  the  point  it  had  already  reached. 
It  remained  to  be  seen  whether  the  damage  was  irrepa- 
rable. I  went  again  on  the  Saturday  night,  following  with 
interest  the  service  that  had  seemed  a  council-meeting. 


77/A  OLJ)  MAIDS'  GLi'h'.  183 

This  time  it  began  with  singing,  in  which  everybody  joined 
and  in  which  I  took  part  with  hearty  inarticulateness. 
But  a  little  experience  convinced  me  that  my  course  was 
beset  with  pitfalls,  that  not  Mary  Jane  aspiring  to  personify 
a  duchess  could  glide  on  thinner  ice  than  I  attempting  to 
behave  as  one  of  these  strange  people,  with  their  endless 
and  all-embracing  network  of  religious  etiquette.  To 
my  joy  I  discovered  that  I  could  pursue  my  suit  with- 
out going  to  synagogue,  a  place  of  dire  peril,  for  it  seems 
that  the  Spaniards  are  a  distinct  sect,  mightily  proud  of 
their  blood  and  their  peculiar  pronunciation,  and  the 
Radowskis,  being  Poles,  did  not  expect  to  see  me  wor- 
shipping with  themselves,  which  enabled  me  to  continue 
my  devotions  in  the  Holy  Chapel  of  St.  Vincent.  It  also 
enabled  me  to  skate  over  many  awkward  moments,  the 
Poles  being  indifferently  informed  as  to  the  etiquette  of 
their  Peninsular  cousins.  That  I  should  have  been  twice 
taken  for  one  of  their  own  race  rather  surprised  me,  for 
my  physiognomical  relationship  to  it  seemed  of  the  slight- 
est. The  dark  complexion,  the  foreign  air,  doubtless  gave 
me  a  superficial  resemblance,  and  in  the  face  it  is  the  sur- 
face that  tells.  I  read  up  Spanish  history  and  learnt  that 
many  Jews  had  become  Christians  during  the  persecutions 
of  the  Holy  Inquisition,  and  that  many  had  escaped  the 
fires  of  the  auto-da-fe  by  feigning  conversion,  the  while 
secretly  performing  their  strange  rites,  and  handing  down 
to  their  descendants  the  traditions  of  secrecy  and  of 
Judaism,  these  unhappy  people  being  styled  Marranos. 
Perchance  I  was  sprung  from  some  such  source,  but  there 
was  no  hint  of  it  in  my  genealogy  so  far  as  known  to  me  ; 
my  name  Mendoza  was  a  good  old  Andalusian  name,  and 
my  ancestors  had  for  generations  been  good  sons  of  the 
only  true  Church.  The  question  has  no  interest  for  me 
now. 

For,  although  like  Csesar  I  am  entitled  to  say  that  I 


184  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'/f. 

came,  saw,  and  conquered,  conquering  not  only  Fanny 
but  my  rival,  yet  am  I  still  a  bachelor.  I  had  driven 
Martin  on  one  side  as  easily  as  a  steamer  bearing  down 
upon  a  skiff,  yet  my  own  lips  betrayed  me.  It  was  the 
desire  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  restaurant  that 
undid  me,  for  if  a  woman  cannot  keep  a  secret,  a  man 
cannot  refrain  from  fathoming  one.  The  rose-gardens  of 
Love  were  open  for  my  walking  when  the  demon  in  posses- 
sion prompted  me  to  speech  that  silvered  the  red  roses 
with  hoar-frost  and  ice. 

One  day  I  sat  holding  her  dear  hand  in  mine.  She 
permitted  me  no  more  complex  caresses,  being  still  in 
black.  Such  was  the  sense  of  duty  of  this  beautiful, 
warm-blooded  Oriental  creature,  that  she  was  as  cold  as 
her  father's  tombstone,  and  equally  eulogistic  of  his  vir- 
tues. She  spoke  of  them  now,  though  I  would  fain  have 
diverted  the  talk  to  hers.  Failing  that,  I  seized  the 
opportunity  to  solve  the  haunting  puzzle. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  fancy  I  once  saw  your  father,"  I  said, 
earnestly. 

"  Indeed !  "  she  observed,  with  much  interest.  "  Where  ? " 

"  In  a  restaurant  not  many  miles  from  here.  It  was 
before  noon." 

"  In  a  restaurant  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Hardly  very 
likely.  There  isn't  any  restaurant  near  here  he  would  be 
likely  to  go  to,  and  certainly  not  at  the  time  you  mention, 
when  he  would  be  in  the  city.  You  must  be  mistaken." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  don't  think  so.  I  remember 
his  face  so  well.  When  I  saw  his  photograph  I  recognized 
him  at  once." 

"  How  long  ago  was  it  ? " 

"  I  can  tell  you  exactly,"  I  said.  "The  date  is  graven 
on  my  heart.  It  was  the  twenty-fourth  of  October." 

"  This  year  ? " 

"  This  year." 


THE  OLD  .1/A/S>S'  CIA' U.  185 

"  The  twenty-fourth  of  October  !  "  she  repeated  'mu- 
singly. "  Only  a  few  weeks  before  he  died.  Poor  father, 
peace  be  upon  him  !  The  twenty-fourth  of  October,  did 
you  say  ? "  she  added,  suddenly. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked.     "  You  are  agitated." 

"No,  it  is  nothing.  It  cannot  be,"  she  added,  more 
calmly.  "  Of  course  not."  She  smiled  faintly.  "  I 
thought —  •"  she  paused. 

"  You  thought  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  I'll  show  you  I  was  mistaken."  She  rose, 
went  to  the  book-case,  drew  out  a  little  brown-paper 
covered  volume,  and  turned  over  the  pages  scrutinizingly. 
Suddenly  a  change  came  over  the  beautiful  face  ;  she 
stood  motionless,  pale  as  a  statue. 

A  chill  shadow  fell  across  my  heart,  distracted  between 
tense  curiosity  and  dread  of  a  tragic  solution. 

"  My  dear  Fanny,  what  in  Heaven's  name  is  it  ? "  I 
breathed. 

"  Don't  speak  of  Heaven,"  said  Fanny,  in  strange,  harsh 
tones,  "  when  you  libel  the  dead  thus." 

u  Libel  the  dead  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  twenty-fourth  of  October  was  Yom  Kippur" 

"  Well,"  I  said,  unimpressed  and  uncomprehending, 
"and  what  of  it?" 

She  stared  at  me,  staggered  and  clutched  at  the  book- 
case for  support. 

"  What  of  it  ?  "  she  cried,  in  passionate  emotion.  "  Do 
you  dare  to  say  that  you  saw  my  poor  father,  who  was 
righteousness  itself,  breaking  his  fast  in  a  restaurant  on 
the  Day  of  Atonement  ?  Perhaps  you  will  insinuate  next 
that  his  speedy  death  was  Heaven's  punishment  on  him 
for  his  blasphemy  !  " 

In  the  same  instant  I  saw  the  truth  and  my  terrible 
blunder.  This  fast-day  must  be  of  awful  solemnity,  and 
Fanny's  father  must  have  gone  systematically  to  a  sur- 


186  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLt'H. 

reptitious  breakfast  in  that  queer,  out-of-the-way  restau- 
rant. His  nervousness,  his  want  of  ease,  his  terror  at 
the  sight  of  me,  whom  he  mistook  for  a  brother-Jew,  were 
all  accounted  for.  Once. a  year — the  discrepancy  in  the 
date  being  explained  by  the  discord  between  Jewish  and 
Christian  chronology — he  hied  his  way  furtively  to  this 
unholy  meal,  enjoying  it  and  a  reputation  for  sanctity  at 
the  same  time.  But  to  expose  her  father's  hypocrisy  to 
the  trusting,  innocent  girl  would  be  hardly  the  way  to 
advance  love-matters.  It  might  be  difficult  even  to  repair 
the  mischief  I  had  already  done. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said  humbly.  "  You  were 
right.  I  was  misled  by  some  chance  resemblance.  If 
your  father  was  the  pious  Jew  you  paint  him,  it  is  impos- 
sible he  could  have  been  the  man  I  saw.  Yes,  and  now 
I  think  of  it,  the  eyebrows  were  bushier  and  the  chin 
plumper  than  those  of  the  photograph. 

A  sigh  of  satisfaction  escaped  her  lips.  Then  her  face 
grew  rigid  again  as  she  turned  it  upon  me,  and  asked  in 
low  tones  that  cut  through  me  like  an  icy  blast :  "  Yes, 
but  what  were  you  doing  in  the  restaurant  on  the  Day  of 
Atonement  ?  " 

"  I— I ? "  I  stammered. 

Her  look  was  terrible. 

"  I — I — was  only  having  a  cup  of  chocolate,"  I  replied, 
with  a  burst  of  inspiration. 

As  everybody  knows,  since  the  pronunciamento  of 
Pope  Paul  V.,  chocolate  may  be  imbibed  by  good  Catho- 
lics without  breaking  the  fasts  of  the  Church.  But,  alas  ! 
it  seems  these  fanatical  Eastern  flagellants  allow  not  even 
a  drop  of  cold  water  to  pass  their  lips  for  over  twenty- 
four  hours. 

"  I  am  glad  you  confess  it,"  said  Fanny,  witheringly. 
"  It  shows  you  have  still  one  redeeming  trait.  And  I  am 
glad  you  spoke  ill  of  my  poor  father,  for  it  has  led  to  the 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'H.  187 

revelation  of  your  true  character  before  it  was  too  late. 
You  will,  of  course,  understand,  Mr.  Mendoza,  that  our 
acquaintance  is  at  an  end." 

"  Fanny  !  "  P  cried,  frantically. 

"  Spare  me  a  scene,  I  beg  of  you,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  You,  you  the  man  who  pretended  to  such  ardent  piety, 
to  such  enthusiasm  for  our  holy  religion,  are  an  apostate 
from  the  faith  into  which  you  were  born,  a  blasphemer,  an 
atheist." 

I  stared  at  her  in  dumb  horror.  I  had  entangled  my- 
self inextricably.  How  could  I  now  explain  that  it  was 
her  father  who  was  the  renegade,  not  I  ? 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Fanny.  "  Heaven  make  you  a  better 
Jew." 

I  moved  desperately  towards  her,  but  she  waved  me 
back.  "  Don't  touch  me,"  she  cried.  "  Go,  go  ! " 

"  But  is  there  no  hope  for  me  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  looking 
wildly  into  the  cold,  statue-like  face,  that  seemed  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  now  it  was  fading  from  my  vision. 

"None,"  she  said.  Then,  in  a  breaking  voice,  she 
murmured,  "  Neither  for  you  nor  for  me." 

"  Ah,  you  love  me  still,"  I  cried,  striving  to  embrace 
her.  "You  will  be  my  wife." 

She  struggled  away  from  me.  "  No,  no,"  she  said,  with 
a  gesture  of  horror.  "  It  would  be  sacrilege  to  my  dead 
father's  memory.  Rather  would  I  marry  a  Christian,  yes, 
even  a  Catholic,  than  an  apostate  Jew  like  you.  Leave 
me,  I  pray  you  ;  or,  must  I  ring  the  bell  ? " 

I  went — a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  But  even  my  wis- 
dom availed  me  not,  for  when  I  repaired  to  the  restaurant 
to  impart  it  to  the  proprietor,  the  last  consolation  was 
denied  me.  He  had  sold  his  business  and  returned  to 
Italy. 

To-morrow  I  start  for  Turkestan. 


1 88  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  ARITHMETIC  AND  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  LOVE. 

"  WELL,  have  you  seen  this  Fanny  Radowski  ?  "  said 
Lord  Silverdale,  when  he  returned  the  manuscript  to  the 
President  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club. 

"  Of  course.  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  had  the  story  from 
her  own  mouth,  though  I  have  put  it  into  Mendoza's  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  remember  now.  It  certainly  is  funny,  her 
refusing  a  good  Catholic  on  the  ground  that  he  was  a  bad 
Jew.  But  then  according  to  the  story  she  doesn't  know 
he's  a  Catholic  ? '' 

"  No,  it  was  I  who  divined  the  joke  of  the  situation. 
Lookers-on  always  see  more  of  the  game.  I  saw  at  once 
that  if  Mendoza  were  really  a  Jew,  he  would  never  have 
been  such  an  ass  as  to  make  the  slip  he  did  ;  and  so 
from  this  and  several  other  things  she  told  me  about  her 
lover,  I  constructed  deductively  the  history  you  have 
read.  She  says  she  first  met  him  at  a  mourning  service 
in  memory  of  her  father,  and  that  it  is  a  custom  among 
her  people  when  they  have  not  enough  men  to  form  a 
religious  quorum  (the  number  is  the  mystical  ten)  to 
invite  any  brother  Je.w  who  may  be  passing  to  step  in, 
whether  he  is  an  acquaintance  or  not." 

"  I  gathered  that  from  the  narrative,"  said  Lord  Silver- 
dale.  "  And  so  she  wishes  to  be  an  object  lesson  in 
female  celibacy,  does  she  ?  " 

"  She  is  most  anxious  to  enlist  in  the  Cause." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  189 

"  Is  she  really  beautiful,  et  cetera  ?  " 

"  She  is  magnificent." 

"  Then  I  should  say  the  very  member  we  .are  looking 
for.  A  Jewess  will  be  an  extremely  valuable  element  of 
the  Club,  for  her  race  exalts  marriage  even  above  happi- 
ness, and  an  old  maid  is  even  more  despised  than  among 
us.  The  lovely  Miss  Radowski  will  be  an  eloquent  pro- 
test against  the  prejudices  of  her  people." 

Lillie  Dulcimer  shook  her  head  quietly.  "The  racial 
accident  which  makes  her  seem  a  desirable  member  to 
you,  makes  me  regard  her  as  impossible." 

"  How  so  ?  "  cried  Silverdale  in  amazement.  "  You 
surely  are  not  going  to  degrade  your  Club  by  anti-Sem- 
itism." 

"  Heaven  forefend !  But  a  Jewess  can  never  be  a 
whole  Old  Maid." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

u  Look  at  it  mathematically  a  moment." 

Silverdale  made  a  grimace. 

"  Consider  !  A  Jewess,  orthodox  like  Miss  Radowski, 
can  only  be  an  Old  Maid  fractionally.  An  Old  Maid 
must  make  '  the  grand  refusal  ! ' — she  must  refuse  man- 
kind at  large.  Now  Miss  Radowski,  being  cut  off  by  her 
creed  from  marrying  into  any  but  an  insignificant  percent- 
age of  mankind,  is  proportionately  less  valuable  as  an 
object-lesson ;  she  is  unfitted  for  the  functions  of  Old 
Maidenhood  in  their  full  potentiality.  Already  by  her 
religion  she  is  condemned  to  almost  total  celibacy.  She 
cannot  renounce  what  she  never  possessed.  There  are  in 
the  world,  roughly  speaking,  eight  million  Jews  among  a 
population  of  a  thousand  millions.  The  force  of  the  ex- 
ample, in  other  words,  her  value  as  an  Old  Maid,  may 
therefore  be  represented  by  .008." 

"  I  am  glad  you  express  her  as  a  decimal  rather  than  a 
vulgar  fraction,"  said  Lord  Silverdale  laughing.  "  But  I 


1 9o  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

must  own  your  reckoning  seems  correct.  As  a  mathe- 
matical wrangler  you  are  terrible.  So  I  shall  not  need  to 
try  Miss  Radowski  ?  " 

"  No  ;  we  cannot  entertain  her  application,"  said  Lillie 
peremptorily,  the  thunder-cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand  gathering  on  her  brow  at  the  suspicion  that  Silver- 
dale  did  not  take  her  mathematics  seriously.  Consider- 
ing that  in  keeping  him  at  arm's  length  her  motive  were 
merely  mathematical  (though  Lord  Silverdale  was  not 
aware  of  this)  she  was  peculiarly  sensitive  on  the  point. 
She  changed  the  subject  quickly  by  asking  what  poem  he 
had  brought  her. 

"  Do  not  call  them  poems,"  he  answered. 

"  It  is  only  between  ourselves.  There  are  no  critics 
about." 

"  Thank  you  so  much.  I  have  brought  one  suggested 
by  the  strange  farrago  of  religions  that  figured  in  your 
last  human  document.  It  is  a  paean  on  the  growing  hos- 
pitality of  the  people  towards  the  gods  of  other  nations. 
There  was  a  time  when  free  trade  in  divinities  was  tabu, 
each  nation  protecting,  and  protected  by,  its  own.  Now 
foreign  gods  are  all  the  rage." 

"THE  END  OF  THE  CENTURY"  CATHOLIC  CREDO. 

I'm  a  Christo-Jewish  Quaker, 
Moslem,  Atheist  and  Shaker, 
Auld  Licht  Church  of  England  Fakir, 
Antinomian  Baptist,  Deist, 
Gnostic,  Neo-Pagan  Theist, 
Presbyterianish  Papist, 
Comtist,  Mormon,  Darwin-apist, 
Trappist,  High  Church  Unitarian, 
Sandemanian  Sabbatarian, 
Plymouth  Brother,  Walworth  Jumper, 
Southcote  South-Place  Bible-Thumper, 
Christadelphian,  Platonic, 
Old  Moravian,  Masonic, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB, 

Corybantic  Christi-antic, 
Ethic-Culture-Transatlantic, 
Anabaptist,  Neo-Buddhist, 
Zoroastrian  Talmudist, 
Laotsean,  Theosophic, 
Table-rapping,  Philosophic, 
Mediaeval,  Monkish,  Mystic, 
Modern,  Mephistophelistic, 
Hellenistic,  Calvinistic, 
Brahministic,  Cabbalistic, 
Humanistic,  Tolstoistic, 
Rather  Robert  Elsmeristic, 
Altruistic,  Hedonistic 
And  Agnostic  Manichsean, 
Worshipping  the  Galilean. 

For  with  equal  zeal  I  follow 

Sivah,  Allah,  Zeus,  Apollo, 

Mumbo  Jumbo,  Dagon,  Brahma, 

Buddha  alias  Gautama, 

Jahve,  Juggernaut  and  Juno — 

Plus  some  gods  that  but  the  few  know. 

Though  I  reverence  the  Mishna. 
I  can  bend  the  knee  to  Vishna ; 
I  obey  the  latest  mode  in 
Recognizing  Thor  and  Odin, 
Just  as  freely  as  the  Virgin  ; 
For  the  Pope  and  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
Moses,  Paul  and  Zoroaster, 
Each  to  me  is  seer  and  master. 
I  consider  Heine,  Hegel, 
Schopenhauer,  Shelley,  Schlegel, 
Diderot,  Savonarola, 
Dante,  Rousseau,  Goethe,  Zola, 
Whitman,  Renan  (priest  of  Paris), 
Transcendental  Prophet  Harris, 
Ibsen,  Carlyle,  Huxley,  Pater 
Each  than  all  the  others  greater. 
And  I  read  the  Zend-Avesta, 
Koran,  Bible,  Roman  Gesta, 
Ind's  Upanischads  and  Spencer 


191 


192  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

With  affection  e'er  intenser. 

For  these  many  appellations 

Of  the  gods  of  different  nations, 

/believe — from  Baal  to  Sun-god — 

All  at  bottom  cover  one  god. 

Him  I  worship — dropping  gammon — 

And  his  mighty  name  is  MAMMON. 

"  You  are  very  hard  upon  the  century — or  rather  upon 
the  end  of  it,"  said  Lillie. 

"  The  century  is  dying  unshriven,"  said  the  satirist 
solemnly.  "  Its  conscience  must  be  stirred.  Truly,  was 
there  ever  an  age  which  had  so  much  light  and  so  little 
sweetness  ?  In  the  reckless  fight  for  gold  Society  has 
become  a  mutual  swindling  association.  Cupidity  has 
ousted  Cupid,  and  everything  is  bought  and  sold." 

"  Except  your  poems,  Lord  Silverdale,"  laughed  Lillie. 

It  was  tit  for  the  tat  of  his  raillery  of  her  mathematics. 

Before  his  lordship  had  time  to  make  the  clever  retort 
the  thought  of  next  day,  Turple  the  magnificent  brought  in 
a  card. 

"  Miss  Winifred  Woodpecker  ?  "  said  Lillie  queryingly. 
"  I  suppose  it's  another  candidate.  Show  her  in." 

Miss  Woodpecker  was  a  tall  stately  girl,  of  the  kind  that 
pass  for  lilies  in  the  flowery  language  of  the  novelists. 

"  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Miss  Dulcimer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  Miss  Dulcimer,"  said  Lillie. 

"  And  where  is  the  Old  Maids'  Club  ?  "  further  inquired 
Miss  Woodpecker,  looking  around  curiously. 

"  Here,"  replied  Lillie,  indicating  the  epigrammatic 
antimacassars  with  a  sweeping  gesture.  "  No,  don't  go, 
Lord  Silverdale.  Miss  Woodpecker,  this  is  my  friend 
Lord  Silverdale.  He  knows  all  about  the  Club,  so  you 
needn't  mind  speaking  before  him." 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  read  the  leader  in  the  Hurrygraph 
about  your  Club  this  morning." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  ,     193 

"  Oh,  is  there  a  leader  ?  "  said  Lillie  feverishly.  "  Have 
you  seen  it,  Lord  Silverdale  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure.  At  first  I  fancied  it  referred  to  the 
Club,  but  there  was  such  a  lot  about  Ptolemy,  Rosa 
Bonheur's  animals  and  the  Suez  Canal  that  I  can  hardly 
venture  to  say  what  the  leader  itself  was  about.  And  so, 
Miss  Woodpecker,  you  have  thought  about  joining  our 
institution  for  elevating  female  celibacy  into  a  fine 
art  ? " 

"  I  wish  to  join  at  once.     Is  there  any  entrance  fee  ? " 

"  There  is — experience.  Have  you  had  a  desirable 
proposal  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  Eminently  desirable." 

"  And  still  you  do  not  intend  to  marry  ? " 

"  Not  while  I  live." 

"  Ah,  that  is  all  the  guarantee  we  want,"  said  Lord 
Silverdale  smiling.  "  Afterwards — in  heaven — there  is  no 
marrying,  nor  giving  in  marriage." 

"  That  is  what  makes  it  heaven,"  added  Lillie.  "  But 
tell  us  your  story." 

"  It  was  in  this  way.  I  was  staying  at  a  boarding-house 
in  Brighton  with  a  female  cousin,  and  a  handsome  young 
man  in  the  house  fell  in  love  with  me  and  we  were  en- 
gaged. Then  my  mother  came  down.  Immediately  after- 
wards my  lover  disappeared.  He  left  a  note  for  me  con- 
taining nothing  but  the  following  verses." 

She  handed  a  double  tear-stained  sheet  of  letter-paper 
to  the  President,  who  read  aloud  as  follows  : 

A  VISION  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

"  Well  is  it  for  man  that  he  knoweth  not  what  the  future  will  bring 
forth." 

She  had  a  sweetly  spiritual  face, 
Touched  with  a  noble,  stately  grace, 
Poetic  heritage  of  race. 


1 94  THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

Her  form  was  graceful,  slim  and  sweet, 
Her  frock  was  exquisitely  neat. 
With  airy  tread  she  paced  the  street. 

She  seemed  some  fantasy  of  dream, 
A  flash  of  loveliness  supreme, 
A  poet's  visionary  gleam. 

And  yet  she  was  of  mortal  birth, 

A  lovely  child  of  lovely  earth, 

For  kisses  made  and  joy  and  mirth. 

Sweet  whirling  thoughts  my  bosom  throng, 
To  link  her  life  with  mine  I  long, 
And  shrine  her  in  immortal  song. 

I  steal  another  glance — and  lo  ! 

Dread  shudders  through  my  being  flow, 

My  veins  are  filled  with  liquid  snow. 

Another  form  beside  her  walks. 
Of  servants  and  expenses  talks, 
Her  nose  is  not  unlike  a  hawk's. 

Her  face  is  plump,  her  figure  fat, 

She's  prose  embodied,  stout  gone  flat, — 

A  comfortable  Persian  cat. 

Her  life  is  full  of  petty  fuss, 
She  wobbles  like  an  omnibus, 
And  yet  it  was  not  always  thus. 

Alas  for  perishable  grace  ! 
How  unmistakably  I  trace 
The  daughter's  in  the  mother's  face. 

Beneath  the  beak  I  see  the  nose, 
The  poetry  beneath  the  prose, 
The  figure  'neath  the  adipose. 

And  so  I  sadly  turn  away  : 
How  can  I  love  a  clod  of  clay, 
Doomed  to  grow  earthlier  day  by  day  ? 

Vain,  vain  the  hope  from  Fate  to  flee, 
What  special  Providence  for  me  ? 
I  know  that  what  hath  been  will  be. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


196  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB, 

Lillie  and  Silverclale  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Lillie  at  last,  "  according  to  this  he 
refused  you,  not  you  him.  Our  rules " 

"  You  mistake  me/'  interrupted  Winifred  Woodpecker. 
"  When  the  first  fit  of  anguish  was  over,  I  saw  my  Frank 
was  right,  and  I  have  refused  all  the  offers  I  have  had  since 
— five  in  all.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  a  lover  to  chain  him 
to  a  beauty  so  transient.  In  ten  or  twenty  years  from 
now  I  shall  go  the  way  of  all  flesh.  Under  such  circum- 
stances is  not  marriage  a  contract  entered  into  under  false 
pretences  ?  There  is  no  chance  of  the  law  of  this  country 
allowing  a  time-limit  to  be  placed  in  the  contract ;  celibacy 
is  the  only  honest  policy  for  a  woman." 

Involuntarily  Lillie's  hand  seized  the  candidate's  and 
gripped  it  sympathetically.  She  divined  a  sister  soul. 

"  You  teach  me  a  new  point  of  view,"  she  said,  "  a  finer 
shade  of  ethical  feeling." 

Silverdale  groaned  inwardly  ;  he  saw  a  new  weapon  going 
into  the  anti-hymeneal  armory,  and  the  Old  Maids'  Club 
on  the  point  of  being  strengthened  by  the  accession  of  its 
first  member. 

"  The  law  will  have  to  accommodate  itself  to  these  finer 
shades,"  pursued  Lillie  energetically.  "  It  is  a  rusty 
machine  out  of  harmony  with  the  age.  Science  has  dis- 
covered that  the  entire  physical  organism  is  renewed  every 
seven  years,  and  yet  the  law  calmly  goes  on  assuming  that 
the  new  man  and  the  new  woman  are  still  bound  by  the 
contract  of  their  predecessors  and  still  possess  the  good- 
will of  the  original  partnership.  It  seems  to  me  if  the 
short  lease  principle  demanded  by  physiology  is  not  to  be 
conceded,  there  should  at  any  rate  be  provincial  and 
American  rights  in  marriage  as  well  as  London  rights. 
In  the  metropolis  the  matrimonial  contract  should  hold 
good  with  A,  in  the  country  with  B,  neither  party  infring- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'   CLl'H.  197 

ing  the  other's  privileges,  in  accordance  with  theatrical 
analogy." 

"  That  is  a  literal  latitudinarianism  in  morals  you  will 
never  get  the  world  to  agree  to,"  laughed  Lord  Silverdale. 
"At  least  not  in  theory;  we  cannot  formally  sanction 
theatrical  practice." 

"  Do  not  laugh,"  said  Lillie.  "  Law  must  be  brought 
more  in  touch  with  life." 

"  Isn't  it  rather  vice  versd,  ?  Life  must  be  brought  more 
in  touch  with  law.  However,  if  Miss  Woodpecker  feels 
these  fine  ethical  shades,  won't  she  be  ineligible  ?  " 

"  How  so  ? "  said  the  President  in  indignant  surprise. 

"  By  our  second  rule  every  candidate  must  be  beautiful 
and  undertake  to  continue  so." 

Poor  little  Lillie  drooped  her  head. 

And  now  it  befalls  to  reveal  to  the  world  the  jealously- 
guarded  secret  of  the  English  Shakespeare,  for  how  else 
can  the  tale  be  told  of  how  the  Old  Maids'  Club  was 
within  an  ace  of  robbing  him  of  his  bride  ? 


198  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCB. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  THE  ENGLISH  SHAKESPEARE." 

BY  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  natural  laws  which 
govern  the  operations  of  human  nature  and  by  a  careful 
application  of  the  fine  properties  of  well-selected  men,  and 
a  judicious  use  of  every  available  instrument  of  log-roll- 
ing, the  Mutual  Depreciation  Society  gradually  built  up  a 
constitution  strong  enough  to  defy  every  tendency  to  dis- 
integration. Hundreds  of  subtle  malcontents  floated  round, 
ready  to  attack  wherever  there  was  a  weak  point,  but 
foiled  by  ignorance  of  the  Society's  existence,  and  the 
members  escaped  many  a  fatal  shaft  by  keeping  themselves 
entirely  to  themselves.  The  idea  of  the  Mutual  Deprecia- 
tion Society  was  that  every  member  should  say  what  he 
thought  of  the  others.  The  founders,  who  all  took  equal 
shares  in  it,  were 

Tom  Brown, 

Dick  Jones, 

Harry  Robinson. 

Their  object  in  founding  the  Mutual  Depreciation 
Society  was  of  course  to  achieve  literary  success,  but  they 
soon  perceived  that  their  phalanx  was  too  small  for  this, 
and  as  they  had  no  power  to  add  to  their  number  except 
by  inviting  strangers  from  without,  they  took  steps  to  in- 
duce three  other  gentlemen  to  solicit  the  privileges  of 
membership.  The  second  batch  comprised. 

Taffy  Owen, 
Andrew  Mackay, 
Patrick  Boyle. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


199 


Tom  Brown,  the  Supreme  Thinker. 


200  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

These  six  gentlemen  being  all  blessed  with  youth,  health 
and  incompetence,  resolved  to  capture  the  town.  Their 
tactics  were  very  simple,  though  their  first  operations 
were  hampered  by  their  ignorance  of  one  another's.  Thus, 
it  was  some  time  before  it  was  discovered  that  Andrew 
Mackay,  who  had  been  deployed  to  seize  the  Saturday 
Slasher,  had  no  real  acquaintance  with  the  .editor's  fenc 
ing-master,  while  Dick  Jones,  who  had  undertaken  to  bom- 
bard the  Acadceum,  had  started  under  the  impression  that 
the  eminent  critic  to  whom  he  had  dedicated  his  poems 
(by  permission)  was  still  connected  with  the  staff.  But 
these  difficulties  were  eliminated  as  soon  as  the  Society 
got  into  working  order.  Everything  comes  to  him  who 
will  not  wait,  and  almost  before  they  had  time  to  wink  our 
six  gentlemen  had  secured  the  makings  of  an  Influence. 
Each  had  loyally  done  his  best  for  himself  and  the  rest, 
and  the  first  spoils  of  the  campaign,  as  announced  amid 
applause  by  the  Secretary  at  the  monthly  dinner,  were 

Two  Morning  Papers, 
Two  Evening  Papers, 
Two  Weekly  Papers. 

They  were  not  the  most  influential,  nor  even  the  best 
circulated,  still  it  was  not  a  bad  beginning,  though  of  course 
only  a  nucleus.  By  putting  out  tentacles  in  every  direc- 
tion, by  undertaking  to  write  even  on  subjects  with  which 
they  were  acquainted,  they  gradually  secured  a  more  or 
less  tenacious  connection  with  the  majority  of  the  better 
journals  and  magazines.  On  taking  stock  they  found  that 
the  account  stood  thus  : 

Three  Morning  Papers, 
Four  Evening  Papers, 
Eleven  Weekly  Papers 
Thirteen  London  Letters, 
Seven  Dramatic  Columns, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  C A ('/>'.  201 

Six  Monthly  Magazines, 
Thirteen  Influences   on  Advertisements, 
Nine  Friendships  with  Eminent  Editors, 
Seventeen  ditto  with  Eminent  Sub-editors, 
Six  ditto  with  Lady  Journalists, 
Fifty-three  Loans  (at  two-and-six  each)  to  Pressmen, 
One  hundred  and  nine  Mentions  of  Editor's  Women- 
kind  at  Fashionable  Receptions. 

It  showed  what  could  be  achieved  by  six  men,  working 
together  shoulder  to  shoulder  for  the  highest  aims  in  a 
spirit  of  mutual  good-will  and  brotherhood.  They  were 
undoubtedly  greatly  helped  by  having  all  been  to  Oxford 
or  Cambridge,  but  still  much  was  the  legitimate  result  of 
their  own  manoeuvres. 

By  the  time  the  secret  campaign  had  reached  this  stage, 
many  well-meaning,  unsuspecting  men,  not  included  in 
the  above  inventory,  had  been  pressed  into  the  service  of 
the  Society,  with  the  members  of  which  they  were  con- 
nected by  the  thousand  and  one  ties  which  spring  up 
naturally  in  the  intercourse  of  the  world,  so  that  there  was 
hardly  any  journal  in  the  three  kingdoms  on  which  the 
Society  could  not,  by  some  hook  or  the  other,  fasten  a  para- 
graph, if  we  except  such  publications  as  the  Newgate 
Calendar  and  Lloyds'  Shipping  List,  which  record  history 
rather  than  make  it. 

Indeed,  the  success  of  the  Society  in  this  department 
was  such  as  to  suggest  the  advisability  of  having  them- 
selves formally  incorporated  under  the  Companies'  Acts 
for  the  manufacture  and  distribution  of  paragraphs,  for 
which  they  had  unequalled  facilities,  and  had  obtained 
valuable  concessions,  and  it  was  only  the  publicity  re- 
quired by  law  which  debarred  them  from  enlarging  their 
home  trade  to  a  profitable  industry  for  the  benefit  of  non- 
members.  For,  by  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  machinery, 
it  could  only  be  worked  if  people  were  unaware  of  its 


202  /'//A'  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCB. 

existence.  They  resolved,  however,  that  when  they  had 
made  their  pile,  they  would  start  the  newspaper  of  the 
future,  which  any  philosopher  with  an  eye  to  the  trend  of 
things  can  see  will  be  a  journal  written  by  advertisers  for 
gentlemen,  and  will  contain  nothing  calculated  to  bring  a 
blush  to  the  cheek  of  the  young  person  except  cosmetics. 
Contemporaneously  with  the  execution  of  one  side  of 
the  Plan  of  Campaign,  the  Society  was  working  the  sup- 
plementary side.  Day  and  night,  week-days  and  Sundays, 
in  season  and  out,  these  six  gentlemen  praised  themselves 
and  one  another,  or  got  themselves  and  one  another 
praised  by  non-members.  There  are  many  ways  in  which 
you  can  praise  an  author,  from  blame  downwards.  There 
is  the  puff  categorical  and  the  puff  allusive,  the  lie  direct 
and  the  eulogy  insinuative,  the  downright  abuse  and  the 
subtle  innuendo,  the  exaltation  of  your  man  or  the  depres- 
sion of  his  rival.  The  attacking  method  of  log-rolling 
must  not  be  confounded  with  depreciation.  In  their  out- 
side campaign,  the  members  used  every  variety  of  puff, 
but  depreciation  was  strictly  reserved  for  their  private 
gatherings.  For  this  was  the  wisdom  of  the  Club,  and 
herein  lay  its  immense  superiority  over  every  other  log- 
rolling club,  that  whereas  in  those  childish  cliques  every 
man  is  expected  to  admire  every  other,  or  to  say  so,  in 
the  Mutual  Depreciation  Society  the  obligation  was  all 
the  other  way.  Every  man  was  bound  by  the  rules  to 
sneer  at  the  work  of  his  fellow-members  and,  if  he  should 
happen  to  admire  any  of  it,  at  least  to  have  the  grace  to 
keep  his  feelings  to  himself.  In  practice,  however,  the 
latter  contingency  never  arose,  and  each  was  able  honestly 
to  express  all  he  thought,  for  it  is  impossible  for  men  to 
work  together  for  a  common  object  without  discovering 
that  they  do  not  deserve  to  get  it.  Needless  to  point  out 
how  this  sagacious  provision  strengthened  them  in  their 
campaign,  for  not  having  to  keep  up  the  tension  of  mutual 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  203 

admiration,  and  being  able  to  relax  and  breathe  (and 
express  themselves)  freely  at  their  monthly  symposia,  as 
well  as  to  slang  one  another  in  the  street,  they  were  able 
to  write  one  another  up  with  a  clear  conscience.  It  is 
well  to  found  on  human  nature.  Every  other  basis  proves 
shifting  sand.  The  success  of  the  Mutual  Depreciation 
Society  justified  their  belief  in  human  nature. 

Not  only  did  they  depreciate  one  another,  but  they  made 
reparation  to  the  non-members  they  were  always  trying  to 
write  down  during  business  hours,  by  eulogizing  them  in 
the  most  generous  manner  in  those  blessed  hours  of  leis- 
ure when  knife  answers  fork  and  soul  speaks  to  soul.  At 
such  times  even  popular  authors  were  allowed  to  have  a 
little  merit. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  periods  of  soul-expansion,  when 
the  most  petty-souled  feels  inclined  to  loosen  the  last  two 
buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  that  the  idea  of  the  English 
Shakespeare  was  first  mooted.  But  we  are  anticipating, 
which  is  imprudent,  as  anticipations  are  seldom  realized. 

One  of  the  worst  features  of  prosperity  is  that  it  is  cloy- 
ing, and  when  the  first  gloss  of  novelty  and  adventure  had 
worn  off,  the  free  lances  of  the  Mutual  Depreciation  So- 
ciety began  to  bore  one  another.  You  can  get  tired  even 
of  hearing  your  own  dispraises  ;  and  the  members  were 
compelled  to  spice  their  mutual  adverse  criticism  in  the 
highest  manner,  so  as  to  compensate  for  its  staleness. 
The  jaded  appetite  must  needs  be  pampered  if  it  is  to  ex- 
perience anything  of  that  relish  which  a  natural  healthy 
hunger  for  adverse  criticism  can  command  so  easily. 

This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  went  on  at  the  dinners  : 

"  I  say,  Tom,"  said  Andrew  Mackay,  "  what  in  Heaven's 
name  made  you  publish  your  waste-paper  basket  under 
the  name  of  '  Stray  Thoughts  ? '  For  utter  and  incompre- 
hensible idiocy  they  are  only  surpassed  by  Dick's  last 
volume  of  poems.  I  shouldn't  have  thought  such  things 


204  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

could  come  even  out  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  certainly  not 
without  a  keeper.  Really  you  fellows  ought  to  consider 
me  a  little — 

"  We  do.  We  consider  you  as  little  as  they  make  them," 
they  interrupted  simultaneously. 

"  It  isn't  fair  to  throw  all  the  work  on  me,"  he  went  on. 
"  How  can  I  go  on  saying  that  Tom  Brown  is  the  supreme 
thinker  of  the  time,  the  deepest  intellect  since  Hegel,  with 
a  gift  of  style  that  rivals  Berkeley's,  if  you  go  on  turning 
out  twaddle  that  a  copy-book  would  boggle  at  ?  How  can 
I  keep  repeating  that  for  sure  and  consummate  art,  for 
unfailing  certainty  of  insight,  for  unerring  visualization, 
for  objective  subjectivity  and  for  subjective  objectivity, 
for  Swinburnian  sweep  of  music  and  Shakespearean  depth 
of  suggestiveness,  Dick  Jones  can  give  forty  in  a  hundred 
(spot  stroke  barred)  to  all  other  contemporary  poets,  if 
you  continue  to  spue  out  rhymes  as  false  as  your  teeth, 
rhythms  as  musical  as  your  voice  when  you  read  them, 
and  words  that  would  drive  a  drawing-room  composer 
mad  with  envy  to  set  them  ?  I  maintain,  it  is  not  sticking 
to  the  bargain  to  expose  me  to  the  danger  of  being  found 
out.  You  ought  at  least  to  have  the  decency  to  wrap  up 
your  fatuousness  in  longer  words  or  more  abstruse  themes. 
You're  both  so  beastly  intelligible  that  a  child  can  under- 
stand you're  asses." 

"  Tut,  tut,  Andrew,"  said  Taffy  Owen,  "  it's  all  very 
well  of  you  to  talk  who've  only  got  to  do  the  criticism. 
And  I  think  it's  deuced  ungrateful  of  you  after  we've 
written  you  up  into  the  position  of  leading  English  critic 
to  want  us  to  give  you  straw  for  your  bricks  !  Do  we  ever 
complain  when  you  call  us  cataclysmic,  creative,  esem- 
plastic,  or  even  epicene  ?  We  know  it's  rot,  but  we  put 
up  with  it.  When  you  said  that  Robinson's  last  novel 
had  all  the  glow  and  genius  of  Dickens  without  his  humor, 
all  the  ripe  wisdom  of  Thackeray  without  his  social  know- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  205 

ingness,  all  the  imaginativeness  of  Shakespeare  without 
his  definiteness  of  characterization,  we  all  saw  at  once 
that  you  were  incautiously  allowing  the  donkey's  ears  to 
protrude  too  obviously  from  beneath  the  lion's  skin.  But 
did  anyone  grumble  ?  Did  Robinson,  though  the  edition 
was  sold  out  the  day  after  ?  Did  I,  though  you  had  just 
called  me  a  modern  Buddhist  with  the  soul  of  an  ancient 
Greek  and  the  radiant  fragrance  of  a  Cingalese  tea-planter  ? 
I  know  these  phrases  take  the  public  and  I  try  to  be 
patient." 

"  Owen  is  right,"  Harry  Robinson  put  in  emphatically. 
"  When  you  said  I  was  a  cross  between  a  Scandinavian 
skald  and  a  Dutch  painter,  I  bore  my  cross  in  silence." 

"  Yes,  but  what  else  can  a  fellow  say,  when  you  give 
the  public  such  heterogeneous  and  formless  balderdash 
that  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  pretend  it's  a  new  style, 
an  epoch-making  work,  the  foundation  of  a  new  era  in 
literary  art  ?  Really  I  think  you  others  have  out  and 
away  the  best  of  it.  It's  much  easier  to  write  bad  books 
than  to  eulogize  their  merits  in  an  adequately  plausible 
manner.  I  think  it's  playing  it  too  low  upon  a  chap,  the 
way  you  fellows  are  going  on.  It's  taking  a  mean  advan- 
tage of  my  position." 

"  And  who  put  you  into  that  position,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  "  yelled  Dick  Jones,  becoming  poetically  excited. 
"  Didn't  we  lift  you  up  into  it  on  the  point  of  our  pens  ? " 

"  Fortunately  they  were  not  very  pointed,"  ejaculated 
the  great  critic,  wriggling  uncomfortably  at  the  suggestion. 
"  I  don't  deny  that,  of  course.  All  I  say  is,  you're  giving 
me  away  now." 

"You  give  yourself  away,"  shrieked  Owen  vehemently, 
"  with  a  pound  of  that  Cingalese  tea.  How  is  it  Boyle 
managed  to  crack  up  our  plays  without  being  driven  to 
any  of  this  new-fangled  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Plays  !  "  said  Patrick,  looking  up  moodily.      "  Any- 


206  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

thing  is  good  enough  for  plays.  You  see  I  can  always 
fall  back  on  the  acting  and  crack  up  that.  I  had  to  do 
that  with  Owen's  thing  at  the  Lymarket,  My  notice  read 
like  a  gushing  account  of  the  play,  in  reality  it  was  all  de- 
voted to  the  players.  The  trick  of  it  is  not  easy.  Those 
who  can  read  between  the  lines  could  see  that  there  were 
only  three  of  them  about  the  piece  itself,  and  yet  the  out- 
side public  would  never  dream  I  was  shirking  the  expres- 
sion of  an  opinion  about  the  merits  of  the  play  or  the  pin- 
ning myself  to  any  definite  statement.  The  only  time, 
Owen,  I  dare  say,  that  your  plays  are  literature  is  when 
they  are  a  frost,  for  that  both  explains  the  failure  and 
justifies  you.  But,  an  you  love  me,  Taffy,  or  if  you  have 
any  care  for  my  reputation,  do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  be  en- 
ticed into  the  new  folly  of  printing  your  plays." 

"  But  things  have  come  to  that  stage  I  must  do  it,"  said 
Owen,  "  or  incur  the  suspicion  of  illiterateness." 

"  No,  no  !  "  pleaded  Patrick  in  horror.  "  Sooner  than 
that  I  will  damn  all  the  other  printed  plays  en  bloc,  and 
say  that  the  real  literary  playwrights,  conscious  of  their 
position,  are  too  dignified  to  resort  to  this  cheap  method 
of  self-assertion." 

"  But  you  will  not  carry  out  your  threat  ?  Remember 
how  dangerously  near  you  came  to  exposing  me  over  your 
Naquette." 

The  Club  laughed.  Everyone  knew  the  incident,  for  it 
was  Patrick's  stock  grievance  against  the  dramatist.  Pat- 
rick being  out  of  town,  had  written  his  eulogy  of  this  play 
of  Owen's  from  his  inner  consciousness.  On  the  fourth 
night  in  deference  to  Owen's  persuasions  he  had  gone  to 
see  Naquette. 

After  the  tragedy,  Owen  found  him  seated  moodily  in 
the  stalls,  long  after  the  audience  had  filed  out. 

"  Knocked  you,  old  man,  this  time,  eh  ?  "  queried  Owen 
laughing  complacently.. 


THE  OLD  MA  JDS'  CLUB. 


207 


2o8  THE  OLD  At  A  IDS'  CLUB. 

"  Yes,  all  to  pieces  !  "  snarled  Patrick  savagely.  "  I 
shall  never  believe  in  my  critical  judgment  again.  I  dare 
not  look  my  notice  in  the  face.  When  I  wrote  Naquctte 
was  a  masterpiece,  I  thought  at  least  there  would  be  some 
merit  in  it — I  didn't  bargain  for  such  rot  as  this." 

In  this  wise  things  would  have  gone  on — from  bad  to 
worse — had  Heaven  not  created  Cecilia  nineteen  years 
before.  , 

Cecilia  was  a  tall,  fair  girl,  with  dreamy  eyes  and  unpro- 
nounced  opinions,  who  longed  for  the  ineffable  with  an 
unspeakable  yearning. 

Frank  Grey  loved  her.  He  always  knew  he  was  going 
to  and  one  day  he  did  it.  After  that  it  was  impossible  to 
drop  the  habit.  And  at  last  he  went  so  far  as  to  propose. 
He  was  a  young  lawyer,  with  a  fondness  for  manly  sports 
and  a  wealth  of  blonde  moustache. 

"  Cecilia,"  he  said,  "  I  love  you.     Will  you  be  mine  ? " 

He  had  a  habit  of  using  unconventional  phrases. 

"  No,  Frank,"  she  said  gently,  and  there  was  a  world 
and  several  satellites  of  tenderness  in  her  tremulous  tones. 
"  It  cannot  be." 

"  Ah,  do  not  decide  so  quickly,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  will 
not  press  you  for  an  answer." 

"  I  would  press  you  for  an  answer,  if  I  could,"  replied 
Cecilia,  "but  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded  desperately. 

"  Because  you  are  not  what  I  should  like  you  to  be  ?  " 

"  And  what  would  you  like  me  to  be  ?  "  he  demanded 
eagerly. 

"  If  I  told  you,  you  would  try  to  become  it  ?  " 

"  I  would,"  he  said,  enthusiastically.  "  Be  it  what  it 
may,  I  would  leave  no  stone  unturned.  I  would  work, 
strive,  study,  reform — anything,  everything." 

"I  feared  so,"  she  said  despondently.  "That  is  why  I 
will  not  tell  you.  Don't  you  understand  that  your  charm 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


209 


to  me  is  your  being  just  yourself — your  simple,  honest, 
manly  self  ?  I  will  not  have  my  enjoyment  of  your  indi- 
viduality spoilt  by  your  transmogrification  into  some  un- 
natural product  of  the  forcing  house.  No,  Frank,  let  us 
be  true  to  ourselves,  not  to  each  other.  I  shall  always 
remain  your  friend,  looking  up  to  you  as  to  something 
stanch,  sturdy,  stalwart,  coming  to  consult  you  (unprofes- 
sionally)  in  all  my  difficulties.  I  will  tell  you  all  my  secrets, 
Frank,  so  that  you  will  know  more  of  me  than  if  I  married 
you.  Dear  friend,  let  it  remain  as  I  say.  It  is  for  the 
best." 

So  Frank  went  away  broken-hearted,  and  joined  the 
Mutual  Depreciation  Society.  He  did  not  care  what  be- 
came of  him.  How  they  came  to  let  him  in  was  this.  He 
was  the  one  man  in  the  world  outside  who  knew  all  about 
them,  having  been  engaged  as  the  Society's  legal  adviser. 
It  was  he  who  made  their  publishers  and  managers  sit  in 
an  erect  position.  In  applying  for  a  more  intimate  con- 
nection, he  stated  that  he  had  met  with  a  misfortune,  and 
a  little  monthly  abuse  would  enliven  him.  The  Society 
decided  that,  as  he  was  already  half  one  of  themselves, 
and  as  he  had  never  written  a  line  in  his  life,  and  so  could 
not  diminish  their  takings,  nothing  but  good  could  ensue 
from  the  infusion  of  new  blood.  In  fact,  they  wanted 
it  badly.  Their  mutual  recriminations  had  degenerated 
into  mere  platitudes.  With  a  new  man  to  insult  and  be 
insulted  by,  something  of  the  old  animation  would  be  re- 
stored to  their  proceedings.  The  wisdom  of  the  policy 
was  early  seen,  for  the  first  fruit  of  it  was  the  English 
Shakespeare,  who  for  a  whole  year  daily  opened  out  new 
and  exciting  perspectives  of  sensation  and  amusement  to 
a  blase  Society.  Andrew  Mackay  had  written  an  enthusi- 
astic article  in  the  so-called  Nineteenth  Century  on  "  The 
Cochin-China  Shakespeare,"  and  set  all  tongues  wagging 
about  the  new  literary  phenomenon  with  whose  verses  the 

14 


210  THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 

boatmen  of  the  Irrawady  rocked  their  children  to  sleep  on 
the  cradle  of  the  river,  and  whose  dramas  were  played  in 
eight  hours  slices  in  the  strolling-booths  of  Shanghai. 
Andrew  had  already  arranged  with  Anyman  to  bring  out 
a  translation  from  the  original  Cochin-Chinese,  for  there 
was  no  language  he  could  not  translate  from,  provided  it 
were  sufficiently  unknown. 

"  Cochin-Chinese  Shakespeare,  indeed  !  "  said  Dick 
Jones,  at  the  next  symposium.  "  Why,  judging  from  the 
copious  extracts  you  gave  from  his  greatest  drama,  Baby 
Bantam,  it  is  the  most  tedious  drivel.  You  might  have 
written  it  yourself.  Where  is  the  Shakespearean  quality 
of  this,  which  is,  you  say,  the  whole  of  Act  Thirteen  ? 

"  '  Hang-ho  :  Out,  Fu-sia,  does  your  mother  know  you 
are  ? 

" '  Fu-sia  :  I  have  no  mother,  but  I  have  a  child.'  '' 

"Where  is  the  Shakespearean  quality?"  repeated 
Andrew.  "  Do  you  not  feel  the  perfect  pathos  of  those 
two  lines,  the  infiniteness  of  incisive  significance  ?  To 
me  they  paint  the  whole  scene  in  two  strokes  of  match- 
less simplicity,  strophe  and  anti-strophe.  Fu-sia  the  re- 
pentant outcast  and  Hang-ho  whose  honest  love  she 
rejected,  stand  out  as  in  a  flash  of  lightning.  Nay, 
Shakespeare  himself  never  wrote  an  act  of  such  tragic 
brevity,  packed  so  full  of  the  sense  of  anagke.  Why,  so 
far  from  it  being  tedious  drivel,  a  lady  in  whose  opinion 
I  have  great  confidence  and  to  whom  I  sent  my  article, 
told  me  afterwards  that  she  couldn't  sleep  till  she  had 
read  it." 

The  Mutual  Depreciation  Society  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter  and  Andrew  realized  that  he  had  put  his  foot 
into  it. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  a  shame,"  broke  in  Frank  Grey, 
"that  we  English  are  debarred  from  having  a  Shake- 
speare. There's  been  one  discovered  lately  in  Belgium, 


THE  OLD  MAlf^'  CLUB. 


211 


I 


"  She  told  me  she  couldn't  sleep  till  she  had  read  #.' 


212  THE  OLD  /J/,-;//AS"  CLUB. 

and  we  have  already  a  Dutch  Shakespeare,  a  French 
Shakespeare,  a  German  Shakespeare,  and  an  American 
Shakespeare.  English  is  the  only  language  in  which  we 
can't  get  one.  It  seems  cruel  that  we  should  be  just  the 
one  nation  in  the  world  to  be  cut  off  from  having  a  nine- 
teenth century  Shakespeare.  Every  patriotic  Briton  must 
surely  desire  that  we  could  discover  an  English  Shake- 
speare to  put  beside  these  vaunted  foreign  phenomena." 

"  But  an  English  Shakespeare  is  a  bull,"  said  Patrick 
Boyle,  who  had  a  keen  eye  for  such. 

"  Precisely.     A  John  Bull,"  replied  Frank. 

"  Peace.  I  would  willingly  look  out  for  one,"  said 
Andrew  JVf ackay,  thoughtfully.  "  But  I  cannot  venture 
to  insinuate  yet  that  Shakespeare  did  not  write  English. 
The  time  is  scarcely  ripe,  though  it  is  maturing  fast. 
Otherwise  the  idea  is  tempting." 

"  But  why  take  the  words  in  their  natural  meaning  ?  " 
demanded  Tom  Brown,  the  philosopher,  in  astonishment. 
"  Is  it  not  unapparent  that  an  English  Shakespeare  would 
be  a  great  writer  more  saturated  with  Anglo-Saxon  spirit 
than  Shakespeare,  who  was  cosmic  and  for  all  time  and 
for  every  place  ?  Hamlet,  Othello,  Lady  Macbeth — these 
are  world-types,  not  English  characters.  Our  English 
Shakespeare  must  be  more  autochthonic,  more  chauviniste ; ' 
or  more  provincial  and  more  borne,  if  you  like  to  put  it 
that  way.  His  scenes  must  be  rooted  in  English  life,  and 
his  personages  must  smack  of  British  soil."  There  was 
much  table-thumping  when  the  philosopher  ceased. 

"  Excellent  !  "  said  Andrew.  "  He  must  be  found.  It 
will  be  the  greatest  boom  of  the  century.  But  whom  can 
we  discover  ?  " 

"There  is  John  P.  Smith,"  said  Tom  Brown. 

"  No,  why  John  P.  Smith  ?  He  has  merit,"  objected 
Taffy  Owen.  "  And  then  he  has  never  been  in  our 
set." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  213 

"  And  besides  he  would  not  be  satisfied,"  said  Patrick 
Boyle. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Andrew  Mackay  reflectively.  "  I 
know,  Owen,  you  would  like  to  be  the  subject  of  the  dis- 
covery. But  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late.  I  have  taken 
your  measurements  and  laid  down  the  chart  of  your 
genius  too  definitely  to  alter  now.  You  are  permanently 
established  in  business  as  the  dainty  neo-Hellenic  Bud- 
dhist who  has  chosen  to  express  himself  through  farcical 
comedy.  If  you  were  just  starting  life,  I  could  work  you 
into  this  English  Shakespeardom — I  am  always  happy  to 
put  a  good  thing  in  the  way  of  a  friend — but  at  your  age 
it  is  not  easy  to  go  into  a  new  line." 

"  Well,  but,"  put  in  Harry  Robinson,  "  if  none  of  us  is 
to  be  the  English  Shakespeare,  why  should  we  give  over 
the  appointment  to  an  outsider  ?  Charity  begins  at  home." 

"  That  is  a  difficulty,"  admitted  Andrew,  puckering  his 
brow.  "  It  brings  us  to  a  standstill.  Seductive,  there- 
fore, as  the  idea  is,  I  am  afraid  it  has  occurred  to  us  too 
late." 

They  sat  in  thoughtful  silence.  Then  suddenly  Frank 
Grey  flashed  in  with  a  suggestion  that  took  their  breath 
away  for  a  moment  and  restored  it  to  them,  charged  with 
"  Bravos  "  the  moment  after. 

"  But  why  should  he  exist  at  all  ?  " 

Why  indeed  ?  The  more  they  pondered  the  matter,  the 
less  necessity  they  saw  for  it. 

"  Ton  my  word,  Grey,  you  are  right,"  said  Andrew. 
"  Right  as  Talleyrand  when  he  told  the  thief  who  insisted 
that  he  must  live  :  Mais,  monsieur,  je  n'en  vois  pas  la 
necessite." 

"  It's  an  inspiration  !  "  said  Tom  Brown,  moved  out  of 
his  usual  apathy.  "  We  all  remember  how  W'hateley 
proved  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  never  existed — and 
the  plausible  way  he  did  it.  How  few  persons  actually 


214  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

saw  the  Emperor  ?  How  did  even  these  know  that  what 
they  saw  was  the  Emperor  ?  Conversely,  it  should  be  as 
easy  as  possible  for  us  six  to  put  a  non-existent  English 
Shakespeare  on  the  market.  You  remember  what  Vol- 
taire said  of  God — that  if  there  were  none  it  would  be 
necessary  to  invent  Him.  In  like  manner  patriotism 
calls  upon  us  to  invent  the  English  Shakespeare." 

"  Yes,  won't  it  be  awful  fun  ?  "  said  Patrick  Boyle. 

The  idea  was  taken  up  eagerly — the  modus  operandi 
was  discussed,  and  the  members  parted,  effervescing  with 
enthusiasm  and  anxious  to  start  the  campaign  imme- 
diately. The  English  Shakespeare  was  to  be  named 
Fladpick,  a  cognomen  which  once  seen  would  hook  itself 
on  to  the  memory. 

The  very  next  day  a  leading  article  in  the  Daily  Herald 
casually  quoted  Fladpick's  famous  line  : 

"  Coffined  in  English  yew,  he  sleeps  in  peace." 

And  throughout  the  next  month,  in  the  most  out-of-the- 
way  and  unlikely  quarters,  the  word  Fladpick  lurked  and 
sprang  upon  the  reader.  Lines  and  phrases  from  Flad- 
pick were  quoted.  Gradually  the  thing  worked  up, 
gathering  momentum  on  its  way,  and  going  more  and 
more  of  itself,  like  an  ever-swelling  snowball  which  needs 
but  the  first  push  down  the  mountain-side.  Soon  a 
leprosy  of  Fladpick  broke  out  over  the  journalism  of  the 
day.  The  very  office-boys  caught  the  infection,  and  in 
their  book  reviews  they  dragged  in  Fladpick  with  an  air 
of  antediluvian  acquaintance.  Writers  were  said  not  to 
possess  Fladpick's  imagination,  though  they  might  have 
more  sense  of  style,  or  they  were  said  not  to  possess 
Fladpick's  sense  of  style,  though  they  might  have  more 
imagination.  Certain  epithets  and  tricks  of  manner  were 
described  as  quite  Fladpickian,  while  others  were  men- 
tioned as  extravagant  and  as  disdained  by  writers  like, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  215 

say,  Fladpick.  Young  authors  were  paternally  invited  to 
mould  themselves  on  Fladpick,  while  others  were  con- 
temptuously dismissed  as  mere  imitators  of  Fladpick.  By 
this  time  Fladpick's  poetic  dramas  began  to  be  asked  for 
at  the  libraries,  and  the  libraries  said  that  they  were  all 
out.  This  increased  the  demand  so  much  that  the  libra- 
ries told  their  subscribers  they  must  wait  till  the  new 
edition,  which  was  being  hurried  through  the  press,  was 
published.  When  things  had  reached  this  stage,  queries 
about  Fladpick  appeared  in  the  literary  and  profession- 
ally inquisitive  papers,  and  answers  were  given,  with 
reference  to  the  editions  of  Fladpick's  book.  It  began 
to  leak  out  that  he  was  a  young  Englishman  who  had 
lived  all  his  life  in  Tartary,  and  that  his  book  had  been 
published  by  a  local  firm  and  enjoyed  no  inconsiderable 
reputation  among  the  English  Tartars  there,  but  that  the 
copies  which  had  found  their  way  to  England  were  ex- 
tremely scarce  and  had  come  into  the  hands  of  only  a  few 
cognoscenti,  who  being  such  were  enabled  to  create  for 
him  the  reputation  he  so  thoroughly  deserved.  The  next 
step  was  to  contradict  this,  and  the  press  teemed  with 
biographies  and  counter-biographies.  Dazzler  also  wired 
numerous  interviews,  but  an  authoritative  statement  was 
inserted  in  the  Acadceum,  signed  by  Andrew  Mackay, 
stating  that  they  were  unfounded,  and  paragraphs  began 
to  appear  detailing  how  Fladpick  spent  his  life  in  dodging 
the  interviewers.  Anecdotes  of  Fladpick  were  highly 
valued  by  editors  of  newspapers,  and  very  plenteous  they 
were,  for  Fladpick  was  known  to  be  a  cosmopolitan, 
always  sailing  from  pole  to  pole  and  caring  little  for  resi- 
dence in  the  country  of  which  he  yet  bade  fair  to  be  the 
laureate.  These  anecdotes  girdled  the  globe  even  more 
quickly  than  their  hero,  and  they  returned  from  foreign 
parts  bronzed  and  almost  unrecognizable,  to  set  out 
immediately  on  fresh  journeys  in  their  new  guise. 


2  1 6  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

A  parody  of  one  of  his  plays  was  inserted  in  a  comic 
paper,  and  it  was  bruited  abroad  that  Andrew  Mackay  was 
collaborating  with  him  in  preparing  one  of  his  dramas  for 
representation  at  the  Independent  Theatre.  This  set  the 
older  critics  by  the  ears,  and  they  protested  vehemently  in 
their  theatrical  columns  against  the  infamous  ethics  prop- 
agated by  the  new  writer,  quoting  largely  from  the  speci- 
mens of  his  work  given  in  Mackay's  article  in  the  Fort- 
nightly Review.  Patrick,  who  wrote  the  dramatic  criticism 
for  seven  papers,  led  the  attack  upon  the  audacious  icono- 
clast. Journalesia  was  convulsed  by  the  quarrel,  and  even 
young  ladies  asked  their  partners  in  the  giddy  waltz  whether 
they  were  Fladpickiets  or  Anti-Fladpickiets.  You  could 
never  be  certain  of  escaping  Fladpick  at  dinner,  for  the  lady 
you  took  down  was  apt  to  take  you  down  by  her  contempt 
of  your  ignorance  of  Fladpick's  awfully  sweet  writings. 
Any  amount  of  people  promised  one  another  introductions 
to  Fladpick,  and  those  who  had  met  him  enjoyed  quite  a 
reflected  reputation  in  Belgravian  circles.  As  to  the  Flad- 
pickian  parties,  which  brother  geniuses  like  Dick  Jones 
and  Harry  Robinson  gave  to  the  great  writer,  it  was  next 
to  impossible  to  secure  an  invitation  to  them,  and  com- 
paratively few  boasted  of  the  privilege.  Fladpick  reaped 
a  good  deal  of  kudos  from  refusing  to  be  lionized  and 
preferring  the  society  of  men  of  letters  like  himself,  dur- 
ing his  rare  halting  moments  in  England. 

Long  before  this  stage  Mackay  had  seen  his  way  to  in- 
troducing the  catch-word  of  the  conspiracy,  "  The  English 
Shakespeare."  He  defended  vehemently  the  ethics  of  the 
great  writer,  claiming  they  were  at  core  essentially  at  one 
with  those  of  the  great  nation  from  whence  he  sprang  and 
whose  very  life-blood  had  passed  into  his  work.  This 
brought  about  a  reaction,  and  all  over  the  country  the 
scribblers  hastened  to  do  justice  to  the  maligned  writer,  and 
an  elaborate  analysis  of  his  most  subtle  characters  was 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCh'.  217 

announced  as  having  been  undertaken  by  Mr.  Patrick 
Boyle.  And  when  it  was  stated  that  he  was  to  be  included 
in  the  Contemporary  Men  of  Letters  Series,  the  advance 
orders  for  the  work  were  far  in  advance  of  the  demand 
for  Fladpick's  actual  writings.  "  Shakespearean,"  "  The 
English  Shakespeare,"  was  now  constantly  used  in  con- 
nection with  his  work,  and  even  the  most  hard-worked 
reviewers  promised  themselves  to  skim  his  book  in  their 
next  summer  holidays.  About  this  time,  too,  Dazzler  un- 
consciously helped  the  Society  by  announcing  that  Flad- 
pick  was  dying  of  consumption  in  a  snow-hut  in  Green- 
land, and  it  was  felt  that  he  must  either  die  or  go  to  a 
warmer  climate,  if  not  both.  The  news  of  his  phthisic 
weakness  put  the  seal  upon  his  genius,  and  the  great 
heart  of  the  nation  went  out  to  him  in  his  lonely  snow-hut, 
but  returned  on  learning  that  the  report  was  a  canard. 
Still,  the  danger  he  had  passed  through  endeared  him  to 
his  country,  and  within  a  few  months  Fladpick,  the  English 
Shakespeare,  was  definitely  added  to  the  glories  of  the 
national  literature,  founding  a  whole  school  of  writers  in 
his  own  country,  attracting  considerable  attention  on  the 
Continent,  and  being  universally  regarded  as  the  centre  of 
the  Victorian  Renaissance. 

But  this  was  the  final  stage.  A  little  before  it  was 
reached  Cecilia  came  to  Frank  Grey  to  pour  her  latest 
trouble  into  his  ear,  for  she  had  carefully  kept  her  promise 
of  bothering  him  with  her  most  intimate  details,  and  the 
love-sick  young  lawyer  had  listened  to  her  petty  psychol- 
ogy with  a  patience  which  would  have  brought  him  in 
considerable  fees  if  invested  in  the  usual  way.  But  this 
time  the  worry  was  genuine. 

"  Frank,"  she  said,  "  I  am  in  love." 

The  young  man  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet.  The  sword 
of  Damocles  had  fallen  at  last,  sundering  them  forever. 

"  With  whom  ? "  he  gasped. 


2i8  THE  OLD  MAlDs'  CLUB. 

"  With  Mr.  Fladpick  !  " 

"  The  English  Shakespeare  ?  " 

"The  same!  " 

"  But  you  have  never  seen  him  !  " 

"  I  have  seen  his  soul,  i  have  divined  him  from  his 
writings.  I  have  studied  Andrew  Mackay's  essa\s  on 
him.  I  feel  that  he  and  I  are  en  rapport.'" 

"  But  this  is  madness  !  " 

"  I  know  it  is.  I  have  tried  to  fight  against  it.  I  have 
applied  for  admission  to  the  Old  Maids'  Club,  so  as  to 
stifle  my  hopeless  passion.  Once  I  have  joined  Miss  Dul- 
cimer's Society,  I  shall  perhaps  find  peace  again." 

"  Great  Heavens  !  Think ;  think  before  you  take  this 
terrible  step.  Are  you  sure  it  is  love  you  feel,  not  admira- 
tion ? " 

"  No,  it  is  love.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  admiration, 
and  probably  it  was,  for  I  was  not  likely  to  be  mistaken 
in  the  analysis  of  my  feelings,  in  which  I  have  had  much 
practice.  But  gradually  I  felt  it  efflorescing  and  sending 
forth  tender  shoots  clad  in  delicate  green  buds,  and  a 
sweet  wonder  came  upon  me,  and  I  knew  that  love  was 
struggling  to  get  itself  born  in  my  soul.  Then  suddenly 
the  news  came  that  he  I  loved  was  ill,  dying  in  that  lonely 
snow-hut  in  grim  Greenland,  and  then  in  the  tempest  of 
grief  that  shook  me  I  knew  that  my  life  was  bound  up  with 
his.  Watered  by  my  hot  tears,  the  love  in  my  heart  bour- 
geoned and  blossomed  like  some  strange  tropical  passion- 
flower, and  when  the  reassuring  message  that  he  was 
strong  and  well  flashed  through  the  world,  I  felt  that  if  he 
lived  not  for  me,  the  universe  were  a  blank  and  next  year's 
daisies  would  grow  over  my  early  grave." 

She  burst  into  tears.  "  A  great  writer  has  always  been 
the  ideal  which  I  would  not  tell  you  of.  It  is  the  one 
thing  I  have  kept  from  you.  But  oh,  Frank,  Frank,  he  can 
never  be  mine.  He  will  probably  never  know  of  my  ex- 


THE  OLD  £1  AIDS'  CLi'B. 


"  He  /  hn>ed  -was  dying  in  Greenland." 


220  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

istence  and  the  most  I  can  ever  hope  for  is  his  autograph. 
To-morrow  I  shall  join  the  Old  Maids'  Club,  and  then  all 
will  be  over."  A  paroxysm  of  hopeless  sobs  punctuated 
her  remarks. 

It  was  a  terrible  position.   .  Frank  groaned  inwardly. 

How  was  he  to  explain  to  this  fair  young  thing  that 
she  loved  nobody  and  could  never  hope  to  marry  him  ? 
There  was  no  doubt  that  with  her  intense  nature  and 
her  dreamy  blue  eyes  she  would  pine  away  and  die.  Or 
worse,  she  would  live  to  be  an  old  maid. 

He  made  an  effort  to  laugh  it  off. 

".Tush!"  he  said,  "all  this  is  mere  imagination.  I 
don't  believe  you  really  love  anybody !  " 

"  Frank  !  "  She  drew  herself  up,  stony  and  rigid,  the 
warm  tears  on  her  poor  white  face  frozen  to  ice.  "  Have 
you  nothing  better  than  this  to  say  to  me,  after  I  have 
shown  you  my  inmost  soul  ?  " 

The  wretched  young  lawyer's  face  returned  from  white 
to  red.  He  could  have  faced  a  football  team  in  open 
combat,  but  these  complex  psychical  positions  were  be- 
yond the  healthy  young  Philistine. 

"  Fpr — or — give  me,"  he  stammered.  "  I — I  am — I 
— that  is  to  say,  Fladpick — oh  how  can  I  explain  what  I 
mean  ? " 

Cecilia  sobbed  on.  Every  sob  seemed  to  stick  in 
Frank's  own  throat.  His  impotence  maddened  him. 
Was  he  to  let  the  woman  he  loved  fret  herself  to  death 
for  a  shadow  ?  And  yet  to  undeceive  her  were  scarcely 
less  fatal.  He  could  have  cut  out  the  tongue  that  first 
invented  Fladpick.  Verily,  his  sin  was  finding  him 
out. 

"  Why  can  you  not  explain  what  you  mean  ? "  wept 
Cecilia. 

"  Because  I — oh,  hang  it  all — because  I  am  the  cause 
of  your  grief." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  221 

"  You  ? "  she  said.  A  strange,  wonderful  look  came 
into  her  eyes.  The  thought  shot  from  her  eyes  to  his  and 
dazzled  them. 

Yes  !  why  not  ?  why  should  he  not  sacrifice  himself  to 
save  this  delicate  creature  from  a  premature  tomb  ?  Why 
should  he  not  become  "  the  English  Shakespeare  ? " 
True,  it  was  a  heavy  burden  to  sustain,  but  what  will  a 
man  not  dare  or  suffer  for  the  woman  he  loves  ?  More- 
over, was  he  not  responsible  for  Fladpick's  being,  and 
thus  for  all  the  evil  done  by  his  Frankenstein  ?  He  had 
employed  Fladpick  for  his  own  amusement  and  the  Em- 
ployers' Liability  Act  was  heavy  upon  him.  The  path  of 
abnegation,  of  duty,  was  clear.  He  saw  it  and  he  went 
for  it  then  and  there — went,  like  a  brave  young  English- 
man, to  meet  his  marriage. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  love  Mr.  Fladpick." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  murmured  breathlessly. 

"  Because  I  love  you." 

"  But — I — do — not — love — you,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  You  will,  when  I  tell  you  it  is  I  who  have  provoked 
your  love." 

"  Frank,  is  this  true  ?  " 

"  On  my  word  of  honor  as  an  Englishman.' 

"  You  are  Fladpick  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not,  he  does  not  exist.  There  is  no  such  per- 
son." 

"  Oh,  Frank,  this  is  no  cruel  jest  ?  " 

"  Cecilia,  it  is  the  sacred  truth.  Fladpick  is  nobody,  if 
he  is  not  Frank  Grey." 

"  But  you  never  lived  in  Tartary  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  All  that  about  Fladpick  is  the  veriest 
poetry.  But  I  did  not  mind  it,  for  nobody  suspected  me. 
I'll  introduce  you  to  Andrew  Mackay  himself,  and  you 
shall  hear  from  his  own  lips  how  the  newspapers  have 
lied  about  Fladpick." 


222  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  My  noble,  modest  boy  !  So  this  was  why  you  were 
so  embarrassed  before  !  But  why  not  have  told  me  that 
you  were  Fladpick  ?  " 

"Because  I  wanted  you  to  love  me  for  myself  alone." 

She  fell  into  his  arms. 

"  Frank — Frank — Fladpick,  my  own,  my  English  Shake- 
speare," she  sobbed  ecstatically. 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  Mutual  Depreciation  Society, 
a  bombshell  in  a  stamped  envelope  was  handed  to  Mr. 
Andrew  Mackay.  He  tore  open  the  envelope  and  the 
explosion  followed — as  follows  : 

"  GENTLEMEN, 

"  I  hereby  beg  to  tender  the  resignation  of  my  mem- 
bership in  your  valued  Society,  as  well  as  to  anticipate 
your  objections  to  my  retaining  the  post  of  legal  adviser  I 
have  the  honor  to  hold.  I  am  about  to  marry — the  cynic 
will  say  I  am  laying  the  foundation  of  a  Mutual  Deprecia- 
tion Society  of  my  own.  But  this  is  not  the  reason  of  my 
retirement.  That  is  to  be  sought  in  my  having  accepted 
the  position  of  the  English  Shakespeare  which  you  were 
good  enough  to  open  up  for  me.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  let 
the  pedestal  stand  empty.  From  the  various  excerpts  you 
were  kind  enough  to  invent,  especially  from  the  copious 
extracts  in  Mr.  Mackay 's  articles,  I  have  been  able  to 
piece  together  a  considerable  body  of  poetic  work,  and  by 
carefully  collecting  every  existing  fragment,  and  studying 
the  most  authoritative  expositions  of  my  aims  and  meth- 
ods, I  have  constructed  several  dramas,  much  as  Professor 
Owen  re-constructed  the  mastodon  from  the  bones  that 
were  extant.  As  you  know  I  had  never  written  a  line  in 
my  life  before,  but  by  the  copious  aid  of  your  excellent 
and  genuinely  helpful  criticism  I  was  enabled  to  get  along 
without  much  difficulty.  I  find  that  to  write  blank  verse 
you  have  only  to  invert  the  order  of  the  words  and  keep 


7//A  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  223 

on  your  guard  against  rhyme.  You  may  be  interested  to 
know  that  the  last  line  in  the  last  tragedy  is : 

'  Coffined  in  English  yew  he  sleeps  in  peace.' 

When  written,  I  got  my  dramas  privately  printed  with  a  Tar- 
tary  trademark,  after  which  I  smudged  the  book  and  sold  the 
copyright  to  Makemillion  &  Co.  for  ten  thousand  pounds. 
Needless  to  say  I  shall  never  write  another  book.  In  tak- 
ing leave  of  you  I  cannot  help  feeling  that,  if  I  owe  you 
some  gratitude  for  the  lofty  pinnacle  to  which  you  have 
raised  me,  you  are  also  not  unindebted  to  me  for  finally 
removing  the  shadow  of  apprehension  that  must  have 
dogged  you  in  your  sober  moments — I  mean  the  fear  of 
being  found  out.  Mr.  Andrew  Mackay,  in  particular,  as 
the  most  deeply  committed,  I  feel  owes  me  what  he  can 
never  hope  to  repay  for  my  gallantry  in  filling  the  mantle 
designed  by  him,  whose  emptiness  might  one  day  have  been 
exposed,  to  his  immediate  downfall. 

"  I  am,  gentlemen, 
"  Your  most  sincere  and  humble  Depreciator, 

"THE  ENGLISH  SHAKESPEARE." 


13 


224  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  OLD  YOUNG  WOMAN  AND  THE  NEW. 

"  PROVIDENCE  has  granted  what  I  dared  not  hope  for," 
wrote  Cecilia  to  the  President. 

"  If  she  had  hoped  for  it,  Providence  would  not  have 
granted  it,"  interpolated  the  Honorary  Trier. 

"  This  is  hardly  the  moment  for  jesting,"  said  Lillie, 
with  marked  pique. 

"  Pardon  me.  The  moment  for  jesting  is  surely  when 
you  have  received  a  blow.  In  a  happy  crisis  jesting  is  a 
waste  of  good  jokes.  The  retiring  candidate  does  not  state 
what  Providence  has  granted,  does  she  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lillie  savagely.  "  She  was  extremely  ret- 
icent about  her  history — reticent  almost  to  the  point  of 
indiscretion.  But  I  daresay  it's  a  husband." 

"  Ah,  then  it  can  hardly  be  Providence  that  has  granted 
it,"  said  Silverdale. 

"  Providence  is  not  always  kindly,"  said  Lillie  laughing. 
The  gibe  at  Benedicts  restored  her  good-humor  and  when 
the  millionaire  strolled  into  the  Club  she  did  not  immedi- 
ately expel  him. 

"  Well,  Lillie,"  he  said,  "  when  are  you  going  to  give 
the  soiree  to  celebrate  the  foundation  of  the  Club  ?  I  am 
staying  in  town  expressly  for  it." 

"  As  soon  as  possible,  father.  I  am  only  waiting  for 
some  more  members." 


Tin-:  OLD  MAIDS'  ci.ru.  225 

"  Why,  have  you  any  difficulty  about  getting  enough  ? 
I  seem  always  to  be  meeting  young  ladies  on  the  stair- 
cases." 

"We  are  so  exclusive." 

"  So  it  seems.  You  exclude  even  me,"  grumbled  the 
millionaire.  "  I  can't  make  out  why  you  are  so  hard  to 
please.  A  more  desirable  lot  of  young  ladies  I  never  wish 
to  see.  I  should  never  have  believed  it  possible  that  such 
a  number  of  pretty  girls  would  be  anxious  to  remain  single 
merely  for  the  sake  of  a  principle." 

"  You  see  !  "  said  Lillie  eagerly,  "  we  shall  be  a  stand- 
ing proof  to  men  of  how  little  they  have  understood  our 
sex." 

"  Men  do  not  need  any  proof  of  that,"  remarked  Lord 
Silverdale  dryly. 

This  time  it  was  Lillie  whom  Turple  the  magnificent 
prevented  from  making  the  retort  which  was  not  on  the 
tip  of  her  tongue. 

"  A  gentleman  who  gives  his  name  as  a  lady  is  waiting 
in  the  ante-room,"  he  announced. 

They  all  stared  hard  at  Turple  the  magnificent,  almost 
tempted  to  believe  he  was  joking  and  that  the  end  of  the 
world  was  at  hand. 

But  the  countenance  of  Turple  the  magnificent  was  as 
stolid  and  expressionless  as  a  Bath  bun.  He  might  have 
been  beaming  behind  his  face,  possibly  even  the  Old 
Maids'  Club  tickled  him  vastly,  so  that  his  mental  midriff 
was  agitated  convulsively ;  but  this  could  not  be  known 
by  outsiders. 

Lillie  took  the  card  he  tendered  her  and  read  aloud  : 
"  Nelly  Nimrod." 

"  Nelly  Nimrod  !  "  cried  the  Honorary  Trier.  "  Why, 
that's  the  famous  girl  who  travelled  from  Charing  Cross 
to  China-Tartary  on  an  elephant  and  wrote  a  book  about 
it  under  the  pen-name  of  Wee  Winnie." 

15 


226  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Shall  I  show  him  in  ? "  interposed  Turple  the  mag- 
nificent. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Lillie  eagerly.     "  Father,  you  must 

go." 

"  Oh,  no  !    Not  if  it's  only  a  gentleman." 

"  It  may  be  only  no  lady,"  murmured  Silverdale.  Lillie 
caught  the  words  and  turned  upon  him  the  dusky  splen- 
dors of  her  fulminant  eyes. 

"£f  tu,  Brute!"  she  said.  '"Do  you  too  hold  that 
false  theory  that  womanliness  consists  in  childishness  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  that  other  false  theory  that  it  consists  in 
manliness,"  retorted  the  Honorary  Trier. 

The  entry  of  Nelly  Nimrod  put  an  end  to  the  dispute. 
In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  no  one  noticed  that  the 
millionaire  was  still  leaning  against  an  epigram. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Dulcimer.  I  am  charmed  to  make 
your  acquaintance,"  said  Wee  Winnie,  gripping  the  Presi- 
dent's soft  hand  with  painful  cordiality.  She  was  elegant- 
ly attired  in  a  white  double-breasted  waistcoat,  a  zouave 
jacket,  a  check-tweed  skirt,  gaiters,  a  three  inch  collar,  a 
tricorner  hat,  a  pair  of  tanned  gloves  and  an  eyeglass. 
In  her  hand  she  carried  an  ebony  stick.  Her  hair  was 
parted  at  the  side.  Nelly  was  nothing  if  not  original, 
so  that  when  the  spectator  looked  down  for  the  divided 
skirt  he  was  astonished  not  to  find  it.  Wee  Winnie  in 
fact  considered  it  ungraceful  and  Divide  et  Impera  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms.  She  was  a  tall  girl,  and  looked  hand- 
some even  under  the  most  masculine  conditions. 

"  I  am  happy  to  make  yours,"  returned  the  President. 
"  Is  it  to  join  the  Old  Maids'  Club  that  you  have 
called  ? " 

"  It  is.  Wherever  there  is  a  crusade  you  will  always 
find  me  in  the  van.  I  don't  precisely  know  your  objects 
yet,  but  any  woman  who  strikes  out  anything  new  com- 
mands my  warmest  sympathies." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  227 

"  Be  seated,  Miss  Nimrod.  Allow  me  to  introduce 
Lord  Silverdale — an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"  And  of  mine,"  replied  Nelly,  bowing  with  a  sweet 
smile. 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Lillie  flushing. 

,  "  In  the  spirit,  only  in  the  spirit,"  said  Nelly.  "  His 
lordship's  '  Poems  of  Passion'  formed  my  sole  reading 
in  the  deserts  of  China-Tartary." 

"In  the  letter,  you  should  say  then,"  said  the  peer. 
"  By  the  way,  you  are  confusing  me  with  a  minor  poet, 
Silverplume,  and  his  book  is  not  called  Poems  of  Passion 
but  Poems  of  Compassion." 

"Ah  well,  there  isn't  much  difference,"  said  Nelly. 

"  No,  according  to  the  proverb  Compassion  is  akin  to 
Passion,"  admitted  Silverdale. 

"  Well,  Miss  Nimrod,"  put  in  Lillie,  "  our  object  is  easily 
defined.  We  are  an  association  of  young  and  beautiful 
girls  devoted  to  celibacy  in  order  to  modify  the  meaning 
of  the  term  'Old  Maid.'" 

Nelly  Nimrod  started  up  enthusiastically. 

"  Bravo,  old  girl !  "  she  cried,  slapping  the  President  on 
the  back.  "  Put  me  down  for  a  flag.  I  catch  the  concep- 
tion of  the  campaign.  It  is  magnificent." 

"  But  it  is  not  war,"  said  Lillie.  "  Our  methods  are 
peaceful,  unaggressive.  Our  platform  is  merely  metaphor- 
ical. Our  lesson  is  the  self-sufficiency  of  spinsterhood. 
Wre  preach  it  by  existing." 

"Not  exist  by  preaching  it,"  added  Silverdale.  "  This 
is  not  one  of  the  cliques  of  the  shrieking  sisterhood  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  term  shrieking  sisterhood," 
said  Nelly.  "  I  use  it  to  denote  the  mice-fearing  classes." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  said  Lillie.  "  It  is  true,  Miss  Nimrod, 
that  our  members  are  required  not  to  exhibit  in  public, 
but  only  because  that  is  a  part  of  the  old  unhappy  signifi- 
cation of  «  Old  Maid.'  " 


228  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  I  quite  understand.  You  would  not  call  a  book  a 
public  exhibition  of  oneself,  I  suppose." 

"  Certainly  not — if  it  is  an  autobiography,"  said  Silver- 
dale. 

"That's  all  right  then.  My  book  is  autobiograph- 
ical." 

"  I  knew  a  celebrity  once,"  said  Silverdale,  "  a  dreadfully 
shy  person.  All  his  life  he  lived  retired  from  the  world, 
and  even  after  his  death  he  concealed  himself  behind  an 
autobiography. " 

Lillie  frowned  at  these  ironical  insinuations,  though  Miss 
Nimrod  appeared  impervious  to  them. 

"  I  have  not  concealed  myself,"  she  said  simply.  "  All 
I  thought  and  did  is  written  in  my  book." 

"I  liked  that  part  about  the  fleas,"  murmured  the  mil- 
lionaire. 

"  What's  that  ?  Didn't  catch  that,"  said  Nelly,  looking 
round  in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 

"  Good  gracious,  father,  haven't  you  gone  ?  "  cried  Lillie, 
no  less  startled.  "  It's  too  bad.  You  are  spoiling  one  of 
my  best  epigrams.  Couldn't  you  lean  against  something 
else  ? " 

Before  the  millionaire  could  be  got  rid  of,  Turple  the 
magnificent  reappeared. 

"A  lady  who  gives  the  name  of  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 

The  assemblage  pricked  up  its  ears. 

"  What  name  ?  "  asked  Lillie. 

"  Miss  Jack,  she  said." 

"  That's  her  surname,"  said  Lillie,  in  a  disappointed 
tone. 

Turple  the  magnificent  stood  reproved  a  moment,  then 
he  went  out  to  fetch  the  lady.  The  gathering  was  already 
so  large  that  Lillie  thought  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  keeping  her  waiting. 

Miss  Jack  proved  to  be  an  extremely  eligible  candidate 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  229 

so  far  as  appearances  went.  She  bowed  stiffly  on  being 
introduced  to  Miss  Nimrod. 

"  May  I  ask  if  that  is  to  be  the  uniform  of  the  Old  Maids' 
Club  ? "  she  inquired  of  the  President.  "  Because  if  so  I 
am  afraid  I  have  made  a  mistaken  journey.  It  is  as  a  pro- 
test against  unconventional  females  that  I  designed  to  join 
you." 

"  Is  it  to  me  you  are  referring  as  an  unconventional 
female  ?  "  asked  Miss  Nimrod,  bridling  up. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Miss  Jack,  with  exquisite  politeness. 
"  I  lay  stress  upon  your  sex,  merely  because  it  is  not  ob- 
vious." 

"  Well,  I  am  an  unconventional  female,  and  I  glory  in  it," 
said  Nelly  Nimrod,  seating  herself  astride  the  sofa.  "  I  did 
not  expect  to  hear  the  provincial  suburban  note  struck 
within  these  walls.  I  claim  the  right  of  every  woman  to 
lead  her  own  life  in  her  own  toilettes." 

"  And  a  pretty  life  you  have  led  !  " 

"  I  have,  indeed !  "  cried  Miss  Nimrod,  goaded  almost 
to  oratory  by  Miss  Jack's  taunts.  "  Not  the  ugly, 
unlovely  life  of  the  average  woman.  I  have  exhausted 
all  the  sensations  which  are  the  common  guerdon  of  youth 
and  health  and  high  spirits,  and  which  have  for  the  most 
part  been  selfishly  monopolized  by  man.  The  splendid 
audacity  of  youth  has  burnt  in  my  veins  and  fired  me  to 
burst  my  swaddling  clothes  and  strike  for  the  emancipation 
of  my  sex.  I  have  not  merely  played  cricket  in  a  white 
shirt  and  lawn  tennis  in  a  blue  serge  skirt,  I  have  not  only 
skated  in  low-heeled  boots  and  fenced  in  corduroy  knicker- 
bockers, but  I  have  sailed  the  seas  in  an  oil-skin  jacket 
and  a  sou'-wester  and  swum  them  in  nothing  and  walked 
beneath  them  in  the  diver's  mail.  I  have  waded  after 
salmon  in  long  boots  and  caught  trout  in  tweed  knicker- 
bockers and  spats.  Nay,  more  !  I  have  proclaimed  the 
dignity  of  womanhood  upon  the  moors,  and  have  shot 


230 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


'  Is  that  the  uniform  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club  ? 


THE  OLD  MAfDS'  CLUB.  231 

grouse  in  brown  leather  gaiters  and  a  sweet  Norfolk 
jacket  with  half-inch  tucks.  But  this  is  not  the  climax,  I 
have " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  You  are  Wee  Winnie.  You  travelled 
alone  from  Charing  Cross  to  China-Tartary.  I  have  not 
read  your  book,  but  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  And  what  have  you  heard  of  it  ?  " 

"  That  it  is  in  bad  taste." 

"  Your  remark  is  in  worse,"  interposed  Lillie  severely. 

"  Ladies,  ladies  !  "  murmured  Silverdale.  "  This  is  the 
first  time  we  have  had  two  of  them  in  the  room  together," 
he  thought.  "  I  suppose  when  the  thing  is  once  started  we 
shall  change  the  name  to  the  Kilkenny  Cats'  Club." 

"  In  bad  taste,  is  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Nimrod,  promptly 
whipping  a  book  out  of  her  skirt  pocket.  "  Well,  here  is 
the  book.  If  you  can  find  one  passage  in  bad  taste  I'll — 
I'll  delete  it  in  the  next  edition.  There  !  " 

She  pushed  the  book  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Jack,  who 
took  it  rather  reluctantly. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  asked  Miss  Jack,  pointing  to  a  weird 
illustration. 

"  That's  a  picture  of  me  on  my  elephant,  sketched  by 
myself.  Do  you  mean  to  say  there's  any  bad  taste  about 
that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  merely  asked  for  information.  I  didn't 
know  what  animal  it  was." 

"  You  astonish  me,"  said  the  artist.  "  Have  you  never 
been  to  a  circus  ?  Yes,  this  is  Mumbo  Jumbo  himself." 

"  Surely,  Miss  Jack,"  said  Lord  Silverdale  gravely. 
"  You  must  have  heard,  if  you  have  not  read,  how  Miss 
Nimrod  chartered  an  elephant,  packed  up  her  Kodak 
and  a  few  bonnet-boxes  and  rode  him  on  the  curb  through 
Central  Asia.  But  may  I  ask,  Miss  Nimrod,  why  you 
did  not  enrich  the  book  with  more  sketches  ?  There  is 
only  this  one.  All  the  rest  are  Kodaks." 


232 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


"  Well,  you  see,  Lord  Silverdale,  it's  simpler  to  photo- 
graph." 

"  Perhaps,  but  your  readers  miss  the  artistic  quality 
that  pervades  this  sketch.  I  am  glad  you  made  an  ex- 
ception in  its  favor." 

"  Oh,   only  because  one  can't  Kodak  oneself.     Every- 
thing else  I  caught  as  I  flew  past." 
"  Did  you  catch  any  Tartars  ?  " 
"  Hundreds.     I  destroyed  most  of  them." 
"  By  the  way,  you  did  not  come  across  Mr.  Fladpick  in 
Tartary  ?  " 

"  The  English  Shakespeare  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I  lunched  with 
him.  He  is  charm — 

"  Ah,  here  are  the  fleas  ! ;'  interrupted  Miss  Jack. 

-The  millionaire 
started  as  if  he  had 
been  stung. 

"  I  won't  have  them 
taken  apart  from  the 
context,  I  warn  you. 
That  wouldn't  be 
fair,"  said  Miss  Nim- 
rod. 

"  Very  well,  I  will 
read  the  whole  pas- 
sage," said  Miss  Jack. 
" '  Mumbo  Jumbo 
bucked  violently  (see 
illustration)  but  I  set- 
tled myself  tightly  on 
the  saddle  and  gave 
myself  up  to  medita- 
tions on  the  vanity  of  Life-guardsmen.  Mumbo  Jumbo 
seemed,  however,  determined  to  have  his  fling,  and 
bounded  about  with  the  agility  of  an  india-rubber  ball. 


Wee  Winnie  on  her  Travels. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  233 

At  last  his  convulsions  became  so  terrific  that  I  grew 
quite  nervous  about  my  fragile  bonnet-boxes.  They 
might  easily  dash  one  another  to  bits.  I  determined  to 
have  leather  hat-boxes  the  next  time  I  travelled  in  un- 
trodden paths.  "  Steady,  my  beauty,  steady  !  "  I  cried. 
Recognizing  my  familiar  accents,  my  pet  easied  a  little. 
To  pacify  him  entirely  I  whistled  '  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle- 
dee,'  to  him,  but  his  contortions  recommenced  and 
became  quite  grotesque.  First  he  lifted  one  paw  high  in 
the  air,  then  he  twirled  his  trunk  round  the  corner,  then 
the  first  paw  came  down  with  a  thud  that  shook  the  desert, 
while  the  other  three  paws  flew  up  towards  the  sky.  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  he  was  dancing  to  the  air 
of  '  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee,'  and  I  laughed  so  loud  and  long, 
that  any  stray  Mahatma  who  happened  to  be  smoking  at 
the  door  of  his  cave  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  must  have 
thought  me  mad.  But  while  I  was  laughing,  Mumbo 
Jumbo  continued  to  stand  upon  his  tail,  so  that  I  saw  it 
could  not  be  '  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee  '  he  was  suffering 
from.  I  wondered  whether  perhaps  he  could  be  teeth- 
ing— or  should  I  say,  tusking  ?  I  do  not  know  whether 
elephants  get  a  second  set,  or  whether  they  cut  their 
wisdom  tusks,  but,  as  they  are  so  sagacious,  I  suppose  they 
do.  Suddenly  the  consciousness  of  what  was  really  the 
matter  with  him  flashed  sharply  upon  my  brain.  I  looked 
down  upon  my  hand,  and  there,  poised  lightly  yet  firmly, 
like  a  butterfly  on  a  lily,  was  a  giant  flea.  Instantly, 
without  uttering  a  single  cry  or  reeling  in  my  saddle,  I 
grasped  the  situation ;  and  coolly  seizing  the  noxious  in- 
sect with  my  other  hand,  I  choked  the  life  out  of  him, 
while  Mumbo  Jumbo  cantered  along  in  restored  calm. 
The  sensitive  beast  had  evidently  been  suffering  untold 
agonies.'  " 

"  Now,  Lord  Silverdale,"  said  Miss  Nimrod,  "  I  appeal 
to  you.     Is   there  anything  in  that  passage   in   the  least 


234  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

calculated  to  bring  a  blush  to  the  cheek  of  the  young 
person  ? " 

"No,  there  is  not,"  said  his  lordship  emphatically. 
"  Only  I  wish  you  had  caught  that  flea  with  your  Kodak." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Miss  Nimrod. 

"  Because  I  have  always  longed  to  see  him.  A  flea 
that  could  penetrate  the  pachydermatous  hide  of  an 
elephant  must  have  been,  indeed,  a  monster.  In  England 
we  only  see  that  sort  under  microscopes.  They  seem  to 
thrive  nowhere  else.  Yours  must  have  been  one  that  had 
escaped  from  under  the  lens.  He  was  magnified  three 
thousand  diameters  and  he  never  recovered  from  it.  You 
probably  took  him  over  in  your  trunk." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  sure  I  didn't,"  protested  Miss  Nimrod. 

"  Well,  then,  Mumbo  Jumbo  did  in  his." 

"  Excuse  me,"  interposed  Miss  Jack.  "We  are  getting 
off  the  point.  I  did  not  say  the  passage  was  calculated 
to  raise  a  blush,  I  said  it  was  a  grave  error  of  taste." 

"  It  is  a  mere  flea-bite,"  broke  in  the  millionaire,  impa- 
tiently. "  I  liked  it  when  I  first  read  it,  and  I  like  it  now 
I  hear  it  again.  It  is  a  touch  of  nature  that  brings  the 
Tartary  traveller  home  to  every  fireside." 

"  Besides,"  added  Lord  Silverdale.  "  The  introduction 
of  the  butterfly  and  the  lily  makes  it  quite  poetical." 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  interposed  the  President,  at 
last,  "  we  are  not  here  to  discuss  entomology  or  aesthetics. 
You  stated,  Miss  Jack,  that  you  thought  of  joining  us  as 
a  protest  against  female  unconventionality." 

"  I  said  unconventional  females,"  persisted  Miss  Jack. 

"  Even  so,  I  do  not  follow  you,"  said  Lillie. 

"  It  is  extremely  simple.  I  am  unable  to  marry  be- 
cause I  have  a  frank  nature,  not  given  to  feigning  or 
fawning.  I  cannot  bring  a  husband  what  he  expects  now- 
adays in  a  wife." 

"  What  is  that  ? "  inquired  Lillie  curiously. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  235 

"  A  chum,"  answered  Miss  Jack.  "  Formerly  a  man 
wanted  a  wife,  now  he  wants  a  woman  to  sympathize  with 
his  intellectual  interests,  to  talk  with  him  intelligently 
about  his  business,  discuss  politics  with  him — nay,  almost 
to  smoke  with  him.  Tobacco  for  two  is  destined  to  be 
the  ideal  of  the  immediate  future.  The  girls  he  favors 
are  those  who  flatter  him  by  imitating  him.  It  is  women 
like  Wee  Winnie  who  have  depraved  his  taste.  There  is 
nothing  the  natural  man  craves  less  for  than  a  clever, 
learned  wife.  Only  he  has  been  talked  over  into  believing 
that  he  needs  intellectual  companionship,  and  now  he 
won't  be  happy  till  he  gets  it.  I  have  escaped  politics 
and  affairs  all  my  life,  and  I  am  determined  not  to  marry 
into  them." 

"  What  a  humiliating  confession  !  "  sneered  Miss  Nim- 
rod.  "  It  is  a  pity  you  don't  wear  doll's-clothes." 

"  I  claim  for  every  woman  the  right  to  live  her  own  life 
in  her  own  toilettes,"  retorted  Miss  Jack.  "  The  sneers 
about  dolls  are  threadbare.  I  have  watched  these  intel- 
lectual camaraderies,  and  I  say  they  are  a  worse  injustice 
to  woman  than  any  you  decry." 

"  That  sounds  a  promising  paradox,"  muttered  Lord 
Silverdale. 

"  The  man  expects  the  woman  to  talk  politics — but  he 
refuses  to  take  a  reciprocal  interest  in  the  woman's  sphere 
of  work.  He  will  not  talk  nursery  or  servants.  He  will 
preach  economy,  but  he  will  not  talk  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Lillie  impressed.  "  What  reply 
would  you  make  to  that,  Miss  Nimrod  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  possible  reply,"  said  Miss  Jack  hurriedly. 
"  So  much  for  the  mock  equality  which  is  the  cant  of  the 
new  husbandry.  How  stands  the  account  with  the  new 
young  womanhood  ?  The  young  ladies  who  are  clamor- 
ing for  equality  with  men  want  to  eat  their  cake  and  to 
have  it  too.  They  want  to  wear  masculine  hats,  yet  to 


236  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

keep  them  on  in  the  presence  of  gentlemen  ;  to  compete 
with  men  in  the  market-place,  yet  to  take  their  seats  inside 
omnibuses  on  wet  days  and  outside  them  on  sunny  ;  to  be 
'  pals  '  with  men  in  theatres  and  restaurants  and  shirk 
their  share  of  the  expenses.  I  once  knew  a  girl  named 
Miss  Friscoe  who  cultivated  Platonic  relations  with  young 
men,  but  never  once  did  she  pay  her  half  of  the  hansom." 

"  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Wee  Winnie.  "  My  whole 
life  gives  the  lie  to  your  superficial  sarcasm.  In  my 
anxiety  to  escape  these  obvious  objurgations  I  have  even, 
I  admit  it,  gone  to  the  opposite  extreme.  I  have  made  it 
a  point  to  do  unto  men  as  they  would  have  done  unto  me, 
if  I  had  not  anticipated  them.  I  always  defray  the  bill 
at  the  restaurants,  buy  the  stalls  at  the  box-office  and  re- 
ceive the  curses  of  the  cabman.  If  I  see  a  young  gentleman 
to  the  train,  I  always  get  his  ticket  for  him  and  help  him 
into  the  carriage.  If  I  convey  him  to  a  ball,  I  bring  him 
a  button-hole,  compliment  him  upon  his  costume  and  say 
soft  nothings  about  his  moustache,  while  if  I  go  to  a  dance 
alone  I  stroll  in  about  one  in  the  morning,  survey  man- 
kind through  my  eyeglass,  loll  a  few  minutes  in  the  door- 
way, then  go  downstairs  to  interview  the  supper,  and 
having  sated  myself  with  chicken,  champagne  and  trifle 
return  to  my  club." 

"  To  your  club  !  "  exclaimed  the  millionaire. 

"  Yes — do  you  think  the  Old  Maids'  is  the  only  one  in 
London  ?  Mine  is  the  Lady  Travellers' — do  you  know  it, 
Miss  Dulcimer  ? " 

"  No — o,"  said  Lillie  shamefacedly.  "  I  only  know  the 
Writers'." 

"  Why,  are  you  a  member  of  that  ?  I'm  a  member,  too. 
It's  getting  a  great  club  now,  what  with  Ellaline  Rand 
(Andrew  Dibdin,  you  know)  and  Frank  Maddox  and  Lillie 
Dulcimer.  I  wonder  we  haven't  met  there." 

"  I'm  so  taken  up  with  my  own  club,"  explained  Lillie. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLL'Ji.  237 

"  Naturally.  But  you  must  come  and  dine  with  me 
some  evening  at  the  Lady  Travellers' — snug  little  club — 
much  cosier  than  the  Junior  Widows',  and  they  give  you 
a  better  bottle  of  wine,  and  then  the  decorations  are  so 
sweetly  pretty.  The  only  advantage  the  Junior  Widows' 
has  over  the  Lady  Travellers'  is  the  lovely  smoking-room 
lined  with  mirrors,  which  makes  it  much  nicer  when  you 
have  men  to  dinner.  I  always  ask  them  there." 

"  W7hy,  are  you  allowed  to  have  men  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Jack. 

"  Certainly — in  the  dining  and  smoking  rooms.  Then 
of  course  there  are  special  gentlemen's  nights.  We  get 
down  a  lot  of  music-hall  talent  just  to  let  them  have  a 
peep  into  Bohemia." 

"  But  how  can  you  be  a  member  of  the  Junior  Widows'  ?  " 
asked  the  millionaire. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  an  original  member.  But  when  they 
were  in  want  of  funds  they  let  a  lot  of  married  women 
and  girls  in,  without  asking  questions.'' 

"  I  suppose,  though,  they  all  look  forward  to  becoming 
widows  in  time,"  observed  Silverdale  cheerfully. 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Miss  Nimrod  emphatically.  "  I  don't 
say  that  if  they  hadn't  let  me  in,  the  lovely  smoking-room 
lined  with  mirrors  mightn't  have  tempted  me  to  marry  so 
as  to  qualify  myself.  But  as  it  is,  thank  Heaven,  I'm  an 
Old  Maid  for  life.  Why  should  I  give  up  my  freedom  and 
the  comforts  of  my  club  and  saddle  myself  with  a  husband 
who  would  want  to  monopolize  my  society  and  who  would 
be  jealous  of  my  bachelor  friends  and  want  me  to  cut  them, 
who  would  hanker  to  read  my  letters,  who  would  watch 
my  comings  and  goings,  and  open  my  parcels  of  cosmetics 
marked  confectionery  ?  Doubtless  in  the  bad  old  times 
which  Miss  Jack  has  the  inaptitude  to  regret,  marriage 
was  the  key  to  comparative  freedom,  but  in  these  days 
when  woman  has  at  last  emancipated  herself  from  the 


2?8  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

*"*  \, 

thraldom  of  mothers,  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to 
replace  them  by  husbands.  Will  you  tell  me,  Miss  Jack, 
what  marriage  has  to  offer  to  a  woman  like  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Miss  Jack. 

"  Aha  !  You  admit  it ! "  cried  Miss  Nimrod  trium- 
phantly. "  Why  should  I  embrace  a  profession  to  which  I 
feel  no  call  ?  Marriage  has  practically  nothing  to  offer 
any  independent  woman  except  a  trousseau,  wedding  pres- 
ents, and  the  jealousy  of  her  female  friends.  But  what 
are  these  weighed  against  the  cramping  of  her  individ- 
uality ?  Perhaps  even  children  come  to  fetter  -her  life  still 
more  and  she  has  daughters  who  grow  up  to  be  younger 
than  herself.  No,  the  future  lies  with  the  Old  Maid  ;  the 
woman  who  will  retain  her  youth  and  her  individuality 
till  death  ;  who  dies,  but  does  not  surrender.  The  ebbing 
tide  is  with  you,  Miss  Jack ;  the  flowing  tide  is  with  us. 
The  Old  Maids'  Club  will  be  the  keystone  of  the  arch  of 
the  civilization  of  to-morrow,  and  Miss  Dulcimer's  name 
will  go  down  to  posterity  linked  with " 

"  Lord  Silverdale's,"  said  the  millionaire. 

"  Father  !  What  are  you  saying  ?  "  murmured  Lillie, 
abashed  before  her  visitors. 

"  I  was  reminding  Miss  Nimrod  of  the  part  his  lordship 
has  played  in  the  movement.  It  is  not  fair  posterity 
should  give  you  all  the  credit." 

"  I  have  done  nothing  for  the  club — nothing,"  said  the 
peer  modestly. 

"  And  I  will  do  the  same,"  said  Miss  Jack.  "  I  came 
here  under  the  delusion  that  I  was  going  to  associate  my- 
self with  a  protest  against  the  defeminization  of  my  sex, 
with  a  band  of  noble  women  who  were  resolved  never 
to  marry  till  the  good  old  times  were  restored  and  mar- 
riages became  true  marriages  once  more.  But  instead  of 
that  I  find— Wee  Winnie." 

"  You  are,  indeed,  fortunate  beyond  your  deserts,"  re- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


239 


plied  that  lady.  "  You  may  even  hope  to  encounter  a  suit- 
able husband  some  day." 

"  I  do  hope,"  said  Miss  Jack  frankly.  "  But  I  will 
never  marry  till  I  meet  a  thoroughly  conventional 
man." 

"  There  I  have  the  advantage  of  you,"  said  Miss  Nim- 
rod.  "  I  shall  never  marry  till  I  meet  a  thoroughly  uncon- 
ventional man." 

"  A  thoroughly  unconventional  man  would  never  want 
to  marry  at  all,"  said  Lillie. 

"  Of  course  not.  That  is  the  beauty  of  the  situation. 
That  is  the  paradox  which  guarantees  my  spinsterhood. 
Well,  I've  had  a  charming  afternoon,  Miss  Dulcimer,  but 
I  must  really  run  away  now.  I  hate  keeping  men  waiting, 
and  I  have  an  appointment  with  a  couple  of  friends. at  the 
Junior  Widows'.  Such  fun  !  While  riding  in  the  park 
before  lunch,  I  met  Guy  Fledgely  out  for  a  constitutional 
with  his  father,  the  baronet.  I  asked  Guy  if  he  would 
have  a  chop  with  me  at  the  club  this  evening,  and  what  do 
you  think  ?  The  baronet  coughed  and  looked  at  Guy 
meaningly,  and  Guy  blushed  and  hemmed  and  hawed  and 
looked  sheepish  and  at  last  gave  me  to  understand  he 
never  went  out  to  dine  with  a  lady  unless  accompanied  by 
his  father.  So  I  had  to  ask  the  old  man,  too.  Isn't  it 
awful  ?  By  the  way,  Miss  Jack,  I  should  be  awfully  de- 
lighted if  you  would  join  our  party  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Wee  Winnie,"  said  Miss  Jack,  disdainfully. 

"  But  think  how  thoroughly  conventional  the  baronet 
is  !  He  won't  even  let  his  son  go  out  without  a  chaperon." 

"  That  is  true,"  admitted  Miss  Jack,  visibly  impressed. 
"He  is  about  the  most  conventional  man  I  ever  heard 
of." 

"  A  widower,  too,"  pursued  Miss  Nimrod,  pressing  her 
advantage. 

Miss  Jack  hesitated. 


2-4-O 


TJJJ-:  OLD  MAJJ>S'  Cl.l'Ii. 


TV//-:  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  241 

"  And  he  dines  seven  sharp  at  the  Junior  Widows'." 

"  Ah  then,  there  is  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Miss  Jack 
They  went  out  arm  in  arm. 

*  #  #  *  *  # 

"  Have  you  seen  Patrick  Boyle's  poem  in  the  Playgoers' 
Revieu>  ?  "  asked  Lillie,  when  the  club  was  clear. 

-"  You  mean  the  great  dramatic  critic's?  No,  I  haven't 
seen  it,  but  I  have  seen  extracts  and  eulogies  in  every 
paper." 

"  I  have  it  here  complete,"  said  Lillie.  "  It  is  quite 
interesting  to  find  there  is  a  heart  beneath  the  critic's 
waistcoat.  Read  it  aloud.  No,  you  don't  want  the 
banjo ! " 

Lord  Silverdale  obeyed.     The  poem  was  entitled. 

CRITICUS  IN  STABULIS  (?). 

Rallying-point  of  all  playgoers  earnest, 

Packecl  with  incongruous  types  of  humanity, 

Easily  pleased,  yet  of  critics   the   sternest, 
Crudely  ignoring  that  all  things  are  vanity. 

Pit,  in  thee  laughter  and  tears  blend  in  medley — 
Would  I  could  sit  in  thy  cozy  concavity ! 

No !  to  the  stalls  I  am  drawn,  to  the  deadly 
Centre  of  gravity. 

Florin,  or  shilling,  or  sixpence  admission, 

Often  I've  paid  in  my  raw  juvenility, 
Purchasing  Banbury  cakes  in  addition, 

Ginger-beer,  too,  to  my  highest  ability. 
Villains  I  hissed  like  a  venomous  gander, 

Virtue  I  loved  next  to  cheesecakes  or  chocolate  ; 
Now  no  atrocity  raises  my  dander, 

No  crime  can  shock  o'  late. 

Then  I  could  dote  on  a  red  melodrama, 

Now  I  demand  but  limelight  on  Philosophy, 

Learned  allusions  to  Buddha  and  Brahma, 
Science  and  Faith  and  a  touch  of  Theosophy. 


242  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

Farces  I  slate,  on  Burlesque  I  am  scathing, 

Pantomime  shakes  for  a  week  my  serenity; 
Nothing  restores  my  composure  but  bathing 
Deep  in  Ibsenity. 

Actors  were  Gods  to  my  boyish  devotion, 

Actresses  angels — in  tights  and  low  bodices  ; 
Drowned  is  that  pretty  and  puerile  notion, 

Thrown  overboard  in  the  first  of  my  Odysseys. 
Syrens  may  sing  submarine  fascinations, 
Adult  Ulysses  remain  analytical, 
Flat  notes  recording,  or  reedy  vibrations, 
Tranquilly  critical. 

Here  in  the  stalls  we  are  stiff  as  if  starch,  meant 
Only  for  shirt-fronts,  to  faces  had  mounted  up  ; 

Dowagers'  wills  may  be  read  on  their  parchment, 
Beautiful  busts  on  your  thumbs  may  be  counted  up. 

Girls  in  the  pit  are  remarkably  rosy, 

Each  claspt  by  lover  who  passes  the  paper-bag  ; 

Here  I  can't  even,  the  girls  are  so  prosy, 
One  digit  taper  bag. 

Yet  could  I  sit  in  the  pit  of  the  Surrey, 

Munching  an  orange  or  spooning  with  'Arriet ; 

Sadly  I  fear  I  should  be  in  no  hurry 

Backward  to  drive  my  existence's  chariot. 

"  Squeezes  "  are  ill  compensated  by  crushes — 
Stalls  may  be  dull,  but  they're  jolly  luxurious ; 

Really  the  way  o'er  past  joys  we  can  gush  is 
Awfully  curious  ! 

Life  is  a  chaos  of  comic  confusion, 

Past  things  alone  take  a  halo  harmonious  ; 

So  from  illusion  we  wake  to  illusion, 

Each  as  the  rest  just  as  true  and  erroneous. 

Fin  de  sitcle  I  am,  and  so  be  it ! 

Here's  to  the  problems  of  sad  sociology  ! 

This  is  my  weird, — like  a  man  I  must  dree  it, 
Great  is  chronology ! 

Even  so,  once  the  great  drama  allured  me, 
Which  we  all  play  on  the  stage  universal ; 

"  Going  behind  "  the  "  green  "  curtain  has  cured  me. 
All  my  hope  now  is  'tis  not  a  rehearsal 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB,  243 

Still  I've  played  on  ;  to  old  men's  parts  I  grew  from 

Juvenile  lead,  as  I'd  risen  from  small-boy, 
So  I'll  play  on  till  I  get  my  last  cue  from 

Death,  the  old  call-boy. 

"  Hum  !    Not  at  all  bad,"  concluded  Lord  Silverdale. 
"  I  wonder  who  wrote  it." 


244  Ta&  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  MYSTERIOUS  ADVERTISER. 

"  JUNIOR  WIDOWS'  CLUB. 

"  Midnight. 
"  DEAR  Miss  DULCIMER, 

"  Just  a  line  to  tell  you  what  a  lovely  evening  we  have 
had.  The  baronet  seemed  greatly  taken  with  Miss  Jacks 
and  she  with  him,  and  they  behaved  in  a  conventional, 
manner.  Guy  and  I  were  able  to  have  a  real  long  chat 
and  he  told  me  all  his  troubles.  It  appears  that  he  has 
just  been  thrown  over  by  his  promised  bride  under  cir- 
cumstances of  a  most  peculiar  character.  I  gave  him  the 
sympathy  he  needed,  but  at  the  same  time  thought  to 
myself,  aha  !  here  is  another  member  for  the  Old  Maids' 
Club.  You  rely  on  me,  I  will  build  you  up  a  phalanx  of 
Old  Maids  that  shall  just  swamp  the  memory  of  Hip- 
polyte  and  her  Amazons.  I  got  out  of  Guy  the  name  and 
address  of  the  girl  who  jilted  him.  I  shall  call  upon  Miss 
Sybil  Hotspur  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  if  I  do 
not  land  her  my  name  is  not 

"  Yours  cheerily, 

"WEE  WINNIE." 

"  This  may  be  awkward,"  said  the  Honorary  Trier,  return- 
ing the  letter  to  the  President.  "  Miss  Nimrod  seems  to 
take  her  own  election  for  granted." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  245 

"  And  to  think  that  we  are  anxious  for  members,"  added 
Lillie.- 

"  Well,  we  ought  to  have  somebody  to  replace  Miss 
Jack,"  said  Silverdale,  with  a  suspicion  of  a  smile.  "  But 
do  you  propose  to  accept  Wee  Winnie  ? " 

"  I  don't  know — she  is  certainly  a  remarkable  girl.  Such 
originality  and  individuality  !  Suppose  we  let  things  slide 
a  little." 

"  Very  well ;  we  will  not  commit  ourselves  yet  by  saying 
anything  to  Miss  Nim " 

"  Miss  Nimrod,"  announced  Turple  the  magnificent. 

"  Aha !  Here  we  are  again  !  "  cried  Wee  Winnie.  "  How 
are  you,  everybody  ?  How  is  the  old  gentleman  ?  Isn't 
he  here  ? " 

"  He  is  very  well,  thank  you,  but  he  is  not  one  of  us," 
said  Lillie. 

"Oh  !     Well,  anyhow,  I've  got  another  of  us." 

"Miss  Sybil  Hotspur?" 

"  The  same.     I  found  her  raging  like  a  volcano." 

"\Vhat — smoking?"  queried  Silverdale. 

"  No,  no,  she  is  one  of  the  old  sort.  She  merely  fumes," 
said  Wee  Winnie,  laughing  as  if  she  had  made  a  joke. 
"  She  was  raving  against  the  infidelity  of  men.  Poor  Guy  ! 
How  his  ears  must  have  tingled.  He  has  sent  her  a  long 
explanation,  but  she  laughs  it  to  scorn.  I  persuaded  her 
to  let  you  see  it — it  is  so  quaint." 

"  Have  you  it  with  you  ?  "  asked  Lillie  eagerly.  Her 
appetite  for  tales  of  real  life  was  growing  by  what  it  fed  upon. 

"  Yes — here  is  his  letter,  several  quires  long.  But  be- 
fore you  can  understand  it,  you  must  know  how  the  breach 
came  about." 

"Lord  Silverdale,  pass  Miss  Nimrod  the  chocolate 
creams.  Or  would  you  like  some  lemonade  ?  " 

"  Lemonade  by  all  means,"  replied  Wee  Winnie,  taking 
up  her  favorite  attitude  astride  the  sofa.  "  With  just  a 


246  THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 

wee  drappie  of  whiskey  in  it,  if  you  please.  I  daresay  I 
shall  be  as  dry  as  a  lime-kiln  before  I've  finished  the  story 
and  read  you  this  letter." 

Turple  the  magnificent  duly  attended  to  Miss  Nimrod's 
wants.  Whatever  he  felt,  he  made  no  sign.  He  was 
sjmply  Turple  the  magnificent. 

"  One  fine  day,"  said  Wee  Winnie,  "  or  rather,  one  day 
that  began  fine,  a  merry  party  made  an  excursion  into 
the  country.  Sybil  Hotspur  and  her  fiance,  Guy  Fledgely, 
(and  of  course  the  baronet)  were  of  the  party.  After 
picknicking  on  the  grass,  the  party  broke  up  into  twos  till 
tea-time.  The  baronet  was  good  enough  to  pair  off  with 
an  unattached  young  lady,  and  so  Sybil  and  Guy  were 
free  to  wander  away  into  a  copse.  The  sun  was  very  hot, 
and  the  young  man  had  not  spared  the  fizz.  First  he  took 
off  his  coat,  to  be  cooler,  then  with  an  afterthought  he 
converted  it  into  a  pillow  and  went  to  sleep.  Meantime 
Sybil,  under  the  protection  of  her  parasol,  steadily  perused 
one  of  Addiper's  early  works,  chaster  in  style  than  in 
substance,  and  sneering  in  exquisitely  chiselled  epigrams 
at  the  weaknesses  of  his  sex.  Sybil  stole  an  involuntary 
glance  at  Guy — sleeping  so  peacefully  like  a  babe  in  the 
wood,  with  the  squirrels  peeping  at  him  trustfully.  She 
felt  that  Addiper  was  a  jaundiced  cynic — that  her  Guy  at 
least  would  be  faithful  unto  death.  At  that  instant  she 
saw  a  folded  sheet  of  paper  on  the  ground  near  Guy's 
shoulder.  It  might  have  slipped  from  the  inner  pocket 
of  the  coat  on  which  his  head  was  resting,  but  if  it  had 
she  could  not  put  it  back  without  disturbing  his  slumbers. 
Besides,  it  might  not  belong  to  him  at  all.  She  picked 
up  the  paper,  opened  it,  and  turned  pale  as  death.  This  is 
what  she  read. 

"  Manager  of  Daily  Hurrygrapli.  Please  insert  en- 
closed series,  in  order  named,  on  alternate  days,  com- 
mencing to-day  week.  Postal  order  enclosed." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  247 

"'  i.  Dearest,  dearest,  dearest.  Remember  the  grotto. 
— POPSY. 

"  '  2.  Dearest,  dearest,  dearest.  This  is  worse  than 
silence.  Sobs  are  cheap  to-day. — POPSY.  . 

"  '  3.  Dearest,  dearest,  dearest.  Only  Anastasia  and 
the  dog.  Thought  I  should  have  died.  Cruel  heart,  hope 
on.  The  white  band  of  hope  !  Watchman,  what  of  tha 
night?  Shall  we  say  11-15  from  Paddington  since  the 
sea  will  not  give  up  its  dead  ?  I  have  drained  the  dregs. 
The  rest  is  silence.  Answer  to-morrow  or  I  shall  dree 
my  weird. — POPSY.' 

"  There  was  no  signature  to  the  letter,  but  the  writing 
was  that  which  had  hitherto  borne  to  poor  Sybil  the  daily 
assurances  of  her  lover's  devotion.  She  looked  at  the 
sleeping  traitor  so  savagely  that  he  moved  uncomfortably, 
even  in  his  sleep.  Like  a  serpent  that  scrap  of  paper 
had  entered  into  her  Eden,  and  she  put  it  in  her  bosom 
that  it  might  sting  her.  Unnoticed,  the  shadows  had 
been  lengthening,  the  sky  had  grown  gray,  as  if  in  har- 
mony with  her  blighted  hopes.  Roughly  she  roused  the 
sleeper,  and  hastily  they  wended  their  way  back  to  the 
rendezvous,  to  find  tea  just  over  and  the  rush  to  the 
station  just  beginning.  There  was  no  time  to  talk  till 
they  were  seated  face  to  face  in  the  railway  carriage. 
The  party  had  just  caught  the  train,  and  bundling  in  any- 
how had  become  separated.  Sybil  and  Guy  were  alone 
again. 

"  Then  Sybil  plucked  from  her  breast  the  serpent  and 
held  it  up. 

"  '  Guy,'  she  said.     <  What  is  this  ? ' 

"  He  turned  pale.  '  W — w — here  did  you  get  that  from  ? ' 
he  stammered. 

"  '  What  is  this  ? '  she  repeated,  and  read  in  unsympa- 
thetic accents  :  '  Dearest,  dearest,  dearest.  Remember 
the  grotto. — POPSY.' 


248 


THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 


"  Dearest,  is  you"  he  said  'with  ghastly  playfulness. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  249 

"  '  Who  is  "  dearest  "  ? '  she  continued. 

"  '  You,  of  course,'  he  said  with  ghastly  playfulness. 

"  '  Indeed.  Then  allow  me  to  say,  sir,  I  will  remember 
the  grotto.  I  shall  never  forget  it,  Popsy.  If  you  wish 
to  communicate  with  me,  a  penny  postage  stamp  is,  I 
believe,  adequate.  Perhaps  I  am  also  Anastasia,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  dog.  Or  shall  we  say  the  11-15  from  Pad- 
dington,  Popsy  ? ' 

"  '  Sybil,  darling,'  he  broke  in  piteously.  '  Give  me 
back  that  paper,  you  wouldn't  understand.' 

"  Sybil  silently  replaced  the  serpent  in  her  bosom  and 
leant  back  haughtily. 

"  '  I  can  explain  all,'  he  cried  wildly. 

"  '  I  am  listening,'  Sybil  said. 

"  '  The  fact  is — I — I '  The  young  man  flushed  and 

stammered.  Sybil's  pursed  lips  gave  him  no  assistance. 

"  '  It  may  seem  incredible — you  will  not  believe  it.' 

"  Sybil  made  no  sign. 

"  '  I — I — am  the  victim  of  a  disease.' 

"  Sybil  stared  scornfully. 

"  '  I — I — don't  look  at  me  like  that,  or  I  can't  tell  you. 
I — I — I  didn't  like  to  tell  you  before,  but  I  always  knew 
you  would  have  to  know  some  day.  Perhaps  it  is  better 
it  has  come  out  before  our  marriage.  Listen !  ' 

"  The  young  man  leant  over  and  breathed  solemnly  in 
her  ear  :  '  I  suffer  from  an  hereditary  tendency  to  advertise 
in  the  agony  column' 

"  Sybil  made  no  reply.  The  train  drew  up  at  a  station. 
Without  a  word  Sybil  left  the  carriage  and  rejoined  her 
friends  in  the  next  compartment." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  excuse,"  exclaimed  Lillie. 

"  So  Sybil  thought,"  replied  Wee  Winnie.  "  From  that 
day  to  this — almost  a  week — she  has  never  spoken  to 
him.  And  yet  Guy  persists  in  his  explanation,  even  to 
me ;  which  is  so  superfluous  that  I  am  almost  inclined  to 


250  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

believe  in  its  truth.     At  any  rate  I  will  now  read  you  his 

letter : — 


"  '  DEAR  SYBIL: — 

"  '  Perhaps  for  the  last  time  I  address  you  thus,  for  if 
after  reading  this  you  still  refuse  to  believe  me,  I  shall 
not  trespass  upon  your  patience  again.  But  for  the  sake 
of  our  past  love  I  beg  you  to  read  what  follows  in  a  trust- 
ing spirit,  and  if  not  in  a  trusting  spirit,  at  least  to  read 
it.  It  is  the  story  of  how  my  father  became  a  baronet, 
and  when  you  know  that,  you  will  perhaps  learn  to  pity 
and  to  bear  with  me. 

"  '  When  a  young  man  my  father  was  bitten  by  the  passion 
for  contributing  to  the  agony  column.  Some  young  men 
spend  their  money  in  one  way,  some  in  another ;  this  was 
my  father's  dissipation.  He  loved  to  insert  mysterious 
words  and  sentences  in  the  advertisement  columns  of  the 
newspapers,  so  as  to  enjoy  the  sensation  of  giving  food  for 
speculation  to  a  whole  people.  To  sit  quietly  at  home 
and  with  a  stroke  of  the  pen  influence  the  thoughts  of 
millions  of  his  countrymen — this  gave  my  father  the 
keenest  satisfaction.  When  you  come  to  analyze  it,  what 
more  does  the  greatest  author  do  ? 

"  '  The  agony  column  is  the  royal  road  to  successful 
authorship,  if  the  publication  of  fiction  in  leading  news- 
papers be  any  test  of  success ;  for  my  father  used  some- 
times to  conduct  whole  romances  by  correspondence, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  then  reigning  Wilkie  Collins.  And 
the  agony  column  is  also  the  most  innocuous  method  for 
satisfying  that  crave  for  supplying  topics  of  conversation 
which  sometimes  leads  people  to  crime.  I  make  this 
analysis  to  show  you  that  there  was  no  antecedent  improb- 
ability about  what  you  seem  to  consider  a  wild  excuse. 
The  desire  to  contribute  to  this  department  of  journalism 
is  no  isolated  psychical  freak  ;  it  is  related  to  many  other 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLi'Ji.  251 

manifestations  of  mental  activity,  and  is  perfectly  intelli- 
gible. But  this  desire,  like  every  other,  may  be  given  its 
head  till  it  runs  away  with  the  whole  man.  So  it  was  with 
my  father.  He  began — half  in  fun — with  a  small  adver- 
tisement, one  insertion.  Unfortunately — or  fortunately — 
he  made  a  little  hit  with  it.  He  heard  two  men  discussing 
it  in  a  cafe.  The  next  week  he  tried  again — unsuccess- 
fully this  time,  so  far  as  he  knew.  But  the  third  adver- 
tisement was  again  a  topic  of  conversation.  Even  in  his 
own  office  (he  was  training  for  an  architect),  he  heard  the 
fellows  saying,  "  Did  you  see  that  funny  advertisement  this 
morning — '  Be  careful  not  to  break  the  baby.'  " 

"  '  You  can  imagine  how  intoxicating  this  sort  of  thing  is 
and  how  the  craving  for  the  secret  enjoyment  it  brings 
may  grow  on  a  man.  Gradually  my  father  became  the 
victim  of  a  passion  fiercer  than  the  gambler's,  yet  akin  to 
it.  For,  he  never  knew  whether  his  money  would  procure 
him  the  gratification  he  yearned  for  or  not ;  it  was  all  a 
fluke.  The  most  promising  mysteries  would  attract  no 
attention,  and  even  a  carefully  planned  novelette,  that  ran 
for  a  week  with  as  many  as  three  characters  intervening, 
would  fall  still-born  upon  the  tapis  of  conversation.  But 
every  failure  only  spurred  him  to  fresh  effort.  All  his 
spare  coin,  all  his  savings,  went  into  the  tills  of  the  news- 
paper cashiers.  He  cut  down  his  expenses  to  the  utter- 
most farthing,  living  abstemiously  and  dressing  almost 
shabbily,  and  sacrificing  everything  to  his  ambitions.  It 
was  lucky  he  was  not  in  a  bank ;  for  he  had  only  a 
moderate  income,  and  who  knows  to  what  he  might  have 
been  driven  ?  At  last  my  father  struck  oil.  Tired  of  the 
unfruitful  field  of  romance,  whose  best  days  seemed  to  be 
over,  my  father  returned  to  that  rudimentary  literature 
which  pleases  the  widest  number  of  readers,  while  it  has  the 
never-failing  charm  of  the  primitive  for  the  jaded  disciples 
of  culture.  He  wrote  only  polysyllabic  unintelligibilities. 


252  /'///•:  OLD  J/.//AV   C/.l'Ji. 

"  '  Thus  for  a  whole  week  in  every  morning  agony  column 
he  published  in  large  capitals  the  word  : 

"  '  Paddlepintospheroskedaddepoid. 

This  was  an  instantaneous  success.  But  it  was  only  a 
succes  d'cstime.  People  talked  of  it,  but  they  could  not 
remember  it.  It  had  no  seeds  of  permanence  in  it.  It 
could  never  be  more  than  a  nine  days'  wonder.  It  was 
an  artificial,  esoteric  novelty,  that  might  please  the  cliques 
but  could  never  touch  the  masses.  It  lacked  the  simpli- 
city of  real  greatness,  that  unmistakable  elemental  cachet 
which  commends  things  to  the  great  heart  of  the  people. 
After  a  bit,  this  dawned  upon  my  father;  and,  profiting 
by  his  experience,  he  determined  to  create  something 
which  should  be  immortal. 

" '  For  days  he  racked  his  brains,  unable  to  please  himself. 
He  had  the  critical  fastidiousness  of  the  true  artist,  and 
his  ideal  ever  hovered  before  him,  unseizable.  Grotesque 
words  floated  about  him  in  abundance,  every  current 
of  air  brought  him  new  suggestions,  he  lived  in  a  world  of 
strange  sounds.  But  the  great  combination  came  not. 

"  '  Late  one  night,  as  he  sat  brooding  by  his  dying  fire, 
there  came  a  sudden  rapping  at  his  chamber  door.  A  flash 
of  joy  illumined  his  face,  he  started  to  his  feet. 

" '  "  I  have  it !  "  he  cried. 

"  '  "  Have  what  ?  "  said  his  friend  Marple,  bursting  into 
the  room  without  further  parley. 

"  ' "  Influenza,"  surlily  answered  my  father,  for  he  was  not 
to  be  caught  napping,  and  Marple  went  away  hurriedly. 
Marple  was  something  in  the  city.  The  two  young  men 
were  great  friends,  but  there  are  some  things  which  cannot 
be  told  even  to  friends.  It  was  not  influenza  my  father 
had  got.  To  his  fevered  onomatopceiac  fancy,  Marple's 
quick  quadruple  rap  had  translated  itself  into  the  word  : 
OLOTUTU. 


7 '//A'  01. D  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


2S3 


The  public  curiosity  amounted  tofrenssy* 


254  rHE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  '  At  this  hour  of  the  day,  my  dear  Sybil,  it  is  superfluous 
to  say  anything  about  this  word,  with  which  you  have  been 
familiar  from  your  cradle.  It  has  now  been  before  the  pub- 
lic over  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  it  has  long  since  won 
immortality.  Little  did  you  think  when  we  sat  in  the  rail- 
way carriage  yesterday,  that  the  "  Olotutu  "  that  glared  at 
you  from  the  partition  was  the  far-away  cause  of  the  cloud 
now  hanging  over  our  lives.  But  it  may  be  interesting  to 
you  to  learn  that  in  the  early  days  many  people  put  the 
accent  on  the  second  syllable,  whereas  all  the  world  now 
knows,  the  accent  is  on  the  first,  and  the  "  o  "  of  "ol  "  is 
short.  When  my  father  found  he  had  set  the  Thames  on 
fire,  he  was  almost  beside  himself  with  joy.  At  the  office 
the  clerks,  in  the  intervals  of  wondering  about  "  Olotutu  " 
wondered  if  he  had  come  into  a  fortune.  He  determined 
to  follow  up  his  success  :  to  back  the  winning  word,  to 
consecrate  his  life  to  "  Olotutu,"  to  put  all  his  money  on  it. 
Thenceforwards  for  the  next  three  months  you  very  rarely 
opened  a  paper  without  seeing  the  word,  "  Olotutu."  It 
stood  always  by  itself,  self-complete  and  independent,  rigid 
and  austere,  in  provoking  sphynx-like  solitude.  Sybil, 
imagine  to  yourself  my  father's  rapture  !  To  be  the  one 
man  in  all  England  who  had  the  clue  to  the  enigma  of 
"  Olotutu  !  "  At  last  the  burden  of  his  secret  became  in- 
tolerable. He  felt  he  must  breathe  a  hint  of  it  or  die. 
One  night  while  Marple  was  smoking  in  his  rooms  and 
wondering  about  "Olotutu,"  my  father  proudly  told  him 
all. 

" ' "  Great  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Marple.  "  Tip  us  your 
flipper,  old  man  !  You  are  a  millionaire." 

"  '  "  A  what  ? "  gasped  my  father. 

"'"  A  millionaire  !" 

"  '  "  Are  you  a  lunatic  ?  " 

" ' "  Are  you  an  idiot  ?  Don't  you  see  that  there  is  a 
fortune  in  «  Olotutu  '  ?  " 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'"  CLUB.  255 

"  '  "  A  fortune  !     How  ?  " 

"  '  "  By  bringing  it  out  as  a  Joint  Stock  Company." 

"  '  "  But — but — but  you  don't  understand.  '  Olotutu  ' 
is  only " 

"  '  "Only  an  income  for  life,"  interrupted  Marple  ex- 
citedly. "  Look  here,  old  boy,  I'll  get  you  up  a  syndicate 
to  run  it  in  twenty-four  hours." 

"  '  "  Do  you  mean  to  say ?  " 

"  '  "  No,  I  mean  to  do.  I'm  an  ass  not  to  quietly  annex 
it  all  to  myself,  but  I  always  said  I  was  too  honest  for  the 
City.  Give  me  '  Olotutu  '  and  we'll  divide  the  profits. 
Glory  !  Hooray  !  " 

" '  He  capered  about  the  floor  wildly. 

"  ;  '•  But  what  profits  ?  Where  from  ?  "  asked  my  father, 
still  unenlightened,  for,  outside  architecture,  he  was  a 
greenhorn. 

"  '  Marple  sang  the  "  Ba,  ba,  ba,  boodle-dee  "  of  the  day, 
and  continued  his  wild  career. 

"  '  My  father  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  pushed  him 
into  a  chair. 

"  ' "  Speak,  man,"  he  cried  agitatedly.  "  Stop  your  tom- 
foolery and  talk  sense." 

"'"  I  am  talking  cents — which  is  better," said  Marple, 
with  a  boisterous  burst  of  laughter.  "  A  word  that  all  the 
world  is  talking  about  is  a  gold-mine — a  real  gold-mine.  I 
mean,  not  one  on  a  prospectus.  Don't  you  see  that  '  Olo- 
tutu '  is  a  household  word,  and  that  everybody  imagines  it  is 
the  name  of  some  new  patent,  something  which  the  proprie- 
tor has  been  keeping  dark  ?  I  did  myself.  When  at  last 
'  Olotutu  '  is  put  upon  the  market  it  will  come  into  the  world 
under  the  fierce  light  that  beats  upon  a  boom,  and  it  will 
be  snapped  up  like  currant  cake  at  a  tea-fight.  Why. 
Nemo's  Fruit  Pepper,  which  has  been  on  every  hoarding 
for  twenty  years,  is  not  half  so  much  talked  about  as  'Olo- 
tutu.' What  you  achieved  is  an  immense  preliminary  adver- 


256  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

tisement — and  you  were  calmly  thinking  of  stopping  there ! 
Within  sight  of  Pactolus  !  " 

"  '  "  I  had  achieved  my  end  !  "  replied  my  father  with  dig- 
nity. "  Art  for  art's  sake — I  did  not  work  for  money." 

"  '  "Then  you  refuse  half  the  profits  ?  " 

"  '  "  Oh,  no,  no  !  If  the  artist's  work  brings  him  money, 
he  cannot  help  it.  I  think  I  catch  your  idea  now.  You 
wish  to  put  some  commodity  upon  the  market  attached 
to  the  name  of  '  Olotutu.'  We  have  a  pedestal  but  no 
statue,  a  cloak  but  nothing  to  cover." 

"  '  "  We  shall  have  plenty  to  cover  soon,"  observed  Mar- 
pie  winking.  And  he  sat  himself  unceremoniously  at  my 
writing-desk  and  began  scribbling  away  for  dear  life. 

"  ' "  I  suppose  then,"  went  on  my  father,  "  we  shall  have 
to  get  hold  of  some  article  and  manufacture  it." 

"  '  "  Nonsense,"  jerked  Marple.  "  Where  are  we  to  get 
the  capital  from  ? " 

"  ' "  Oh,  I  see  you  will  get  the  syndicate  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  '  "  Good  gracious,  man  !  "  yelped  Marple.  "  Do  you 
suppose  the  syndicate  will  have  any  capital  ?  Let  me 
write  in  peace." 

"  '  "  But  who  is  going  to  manufacture  '  Olotutu  '  then  ?  " 
persisted  my  father. 

"  '  "  The  British  Public  of  course,"  thundered  Marple. 
My  father  was  silenced.  The  feverish  scratching  of  Mar- 
pie's  pen  continued,  working  my  father  up  to  an  inde- 
scribable nervous  tension. 

"  '  "  But  what  will  '  Olotutu  '  be  ?  "  he  inquired  at  last. 
"  A  patent  medicine,  a  tobacco,  a  soap,  a  mine,  a  comic 
paper,  a  beverage,  a  tooth-powder,  a  hair-restorer  ? " 

"  ' "  Look  here,  old  man  !  "  roared  Marple.  "  How  do 
you  expect  me  to  bother  about  details  ?  This  thing  has 
got  to  be  worked  at  once.  The  best  part  of  the  Com- 
pany season  is  already  over.  But  '  Olotutu '  is  going  to 
make  it  up.  Mark  my  words  the  shares  of  '  Olotutu '  will 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


257 


be  at  a  premium  on  the  day  of  issue.  Another  sheet  of 
paper,  quick." 

"  '  "  What  for  ?  " 

"  '  "  I  want  to  write  to  a  firm  of  Chartered  Accountants 
and  Valuers  to  give  an  estimate  of  the  profits !  " 

"  '  "  An  estimate  of  the  profits  ?  " 

"  '  "  Don't  talk  like  a  parrot !  " 

"  '  "  But  how  can  they  estimate  the  profits  ?  " 

"  '  "  How  ?  what  do  you  suppose  they're  chartered  for  ? 
You  or  I  couldn't  do  it ;  of  course  not.  But  it's  the  busi- 
ness of  accountants  !  That's  what  they're  for.  Pass  me 
more  writing-paper — reams  of  it !  " 

"  '  Marple  spent  the  whole  of  that  night  writing  letters  to 
what  he  called  his  tame  guinea-pigs  ;  and  the  very  next 
day  large  bills  bearing  the  solitary  word  "  Olotutu  "  were 
posted  up  all  over  London  till  the  public  curiosity  mounted 
to  frenzy.  The  bill-posters  earnt  many  a  half-crown  by 
misinforming  the  inquisitive.  Marple  worked  like  a  horse. 
First  he  drew  up  the  Prospectus,  leaving  blanks  for  the 
Board  of  Directors  of  the  Company.  Then  he  filled  up 
the  blanks.  It  was  not  easy.  One  lord  was  only  in- 
"Juced  to  serve  on  Marple's  convincing  representations  of 
the  good  '  Olotutu  '  would  do  to  the  masses.  When  the 
Board  was  complete,  Marple  had  still  to  get  the  Syndi- 
cate from  which  the  Directors  were  to  acquire  "  Olotutu," 
but  he  left  this  till  the  end,  knowing  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  there.  I  have  never  been  able  to  gather  from 
my  father  exactly  what  went  on,  nor  does  my  father  pro- 
fess to  know  exactly  himself,  but  he  tells  with  regret  how 
he  used  to  worry  Marple  daily  by  inquiring  if  he  had  yet 
decided  what  "  Olotutu  "  was  to  be,  as  if  Marple  had  not 
his  hands  full  enough  without  that.  Marple  turned  round 
on  him  one  day  and  shrieked  :  "  That's  your  affair,  not 
mine.  You're  selling  '  Olotutu '  to  me,  aren't  you  ?  I 
can't  be  buyer  and  seller,  too." 


258  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  '  This,  by  the  way,  does  not  seem  to  be  as  impossible  as 
it  sounds  for,  according  to  my  father,  when  the  company 
came  out,  Marple  bought  and  sold  "  Olotutu  "  in  the  most 
mysterious  manner,  rigging  the  market,  watering  the  shares, 
cornering  the  bears,  and  doing  other  extraordinary  things, 
each  and  all  at  a  profit.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  his 
share  of  the  price  paid  for  "  Olotutu  "  by  the  syndicate, 
nor  with  his  share  of  the  enormously  higher  price  paid  to 
the  syndicate  by  the  public,  but  went  in  for  Stock  Ex- 
change manoeuvres  six-deep,  coming  out  an  easy  winner 
on  settling  day.  One  of  my  father's  most  treasured  col- 
lections is  the  complete  set  of  proofs  of  the  prospectus. 
It  went  through  thirteen  editions  before  it  reached  the 
public  ;  no  author  could  revise  his  book  more  lovingly 
than  Marple  revised  that  prospectus.  What  tales  printers 
could  tell  to  be  sure  !  The  most  noticeable  variations  in 
the  text  of  my  father's  collection  are  the  omission  or 
addition  of  cyphers.  Some  of  the  editions  have  ^"120,- 
ooo  for  the  share  capital  of  the  Company,  where  others 
have  ;£  i, 2  00,000  and  others  .£12,000.  Sometimes  the  di- 
rectors appear  to  have  extenuated  "nought," sometimes  to 
have  set  down  "  nought  "  in  malice.  As  for  the  number  of 
debenture  shares,  the  amounts  to  be  paid  up  on  allotment, 
the  contracts  with  divers  obscure  individuals,  the  number 
of  shares  to  be  taken  up  by  the  directors  and  the  number 
to  be  accepted  by  the  vendors  in  part  payment,  these 
vary  indefinitely ;  but  in  no  edition,  not  even  in  those  still 
void  of  the  names  of  the  directors,  do  the  profits  guaran- 
teed by  the  directors  fall  below  twenty-five  per  cent. 
Sometimes  the  complex  and  brain-baffling  calculations 
that  fill  page  three  result  in  a  bigger  profit,  sometimes  in 
a  smaller,  but  they  are  always  cheering  to  contemplate. 

"  '  There  is  not  very  much  about  "  Olotutu  "  itself  even  in 
the  last  edition,  but  from  the  very  first,  there  is  a  great  deal 
about  the  power  of  the  company  to  manufacture,  import, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'Jt. 


259 


export,  and  deal  in  all  kinds  of  materials,  commodities,  and 
articles  necessary  for  and  useful  in  carrying  on  the  same  ; 
to  carry  on  any  other  operations  or  business  which  the 
company  might  from  time  to  time  deem  expedient  in  con- 
nection with  its  main  business  for  the  time  being ;  to 
purchase,  take  in  exchange,  or  on  lease,  hire,  or  other- 
wise, in  any  part  of  the  world,  for  any  estate,  or  interests, 
any  lands,  factories,  buildings,  easements,  patent  rights, 
brands  and  trademarks,  concessions,  privileges,  machinery, 
plant,  stock-in-trade,  utensils,  necessary  or  convenient,  for 
the  purposes  of  the  company,  or  to  sell,  exchange,  let 
or  rent  royalty,  share  of  profits,  or  otherwise  use  and  grant 
licenses,  easements  and  other  rights  of  and  over,  and  in 
any  other  manner  deal  with  or  dispose  of  the  whole  or  any 
part  of  the  undertaking,  business  and  property  of  the 
Company,  and  in  consideration  to  accept  cash  or  shares, 
stock,  debenture  or  securities  of  any  company  whose 
objects  were  or  included  objects  similar  to  those  of  the 
Company. 

"  '  The  actual  nature  of  "  Olotutu  "does  not  seem  to  have 
been  settled  till  the  ninth  edition,  but  all  the  editions  in- 
clude the  analyst's  report,  certifying  that  "  Olotutu  "  con- 
tains no  injurious  ingredients  and  is  far  purer  and  safer 
than  any  other  (here  there  was  a  blank  in  the  first  eight 
editions  in  the  market).  From  this  it  is  evident  that 
Marple  has  made  up  his  mind  to  something  chemical, 
though  it  is  equally  apparent  that  he  kept  an  open  mind 
regards  its  precise  character,  for  in  the  ninth  edition  the 
blank  is  filled  up  with  "  purgative,"  in  the  tenth  with  "  meat 
extract,"  in  the  eleventh  with  "  hair-dye,"  in  the  twelfth 
with  "  cod  liver  oil,"  and  it  is  only  in  the  thirteenth  edition 
that  the  final  decision  seems  to  have  been  arrived  at  in 
favor  of  "soap."  This  of  course,  my  dear  Sybil,  you 
already  know.  Indeed,  if  I  mistake  not,  "Olotutu,"  the 
only  absolutely  scentless  soap  in  the  market,  is  your  own 


260  'IJIK  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

pet  soap.  I  hope  it  will  not  shock  you  too  much  if  I  tell 
you  in  the  strictest  confidence  that  except  in  price,  stamp, 
and  copious  paper-wrapping,  "  Olotutu  "  is  simply  bars  of 
yellow  soap  chopped  small.  It  was  here,  perhaps,  that 
Marple's  genius  showed  to  the  highest  advantage.  The 
public  was  overdone  with  patent  scented  soaps ;  there 
seemed  something  unhealthy  or  at  least  molly-coddling 
about  their  use ;  the  time  was  ripe  for  return  to  the  rude 
and  primitive.  "  Absolutely  scentless  "  became  the  trade- 
mark of  "  Olotutu "  and  the  public,  being  absolutely 
senseless  (pace,  my  dear  Sybil) ,  somehow  concluded  that 
because  the  soap  was  devoid  of  scent  it  was  impregnated 
with  sanitation. 

" '  Is  there  need  to  prolong  the  story  ?  My  father,  so  un- 
expectedly enriched,  abandoned  architecture  and  married 
almost  immediately.  Soon  he  became  the  idol  of  a  popu- 
lar constituency,  and,  voting  steadily  with  his  party,  was 
made  a  baronet.  I  was  born  a  few  months  after  the  first 
dividend  was  announced.  It  was  a  dividend  of  thirty- 
three  per  cent,  for  "  Olotutu  "  had  become  an  indispensa- 
ble adjunct  to  every  toilet-table  and  the  financial  papers 
published  leaders,  boasting  of  having  put  their  clients  up 
to  a  good  thing,  and  "  Olotutu  "  was  on  everybody's  tongue 
and  got  into  everybody's  eyes. 

"  '  Can  you  wonder,  then,  that  I  was  born  with  a  congeni- 
tal craving  for  springing  mysteries  upon  the  public  ?  Can 
you  still  disbelieve  that  I  suffer  from  an  hereditary  ten- 
dency to  advertise  in  the  agony  column  ? 

"  '  At  periodic  intervals  an  irresistible  prompting  to  force 
uncouth  words  upon  the  universal  consciousness  seizes 
me  ;  at  other  times  I  am  driven  to  beguile  the  public  with 
pseudo-sensational  communications  to  imaginary  person- 
ages. It  was  fortunate  my  father  early  discovered  my 
penchant  and  told  me  the  story  of  his  life,  for  I  think  the 
very  knowledge  that  I  am  the  victim  of  heredity  helps  me 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  261 

to  defy  my  own  instincts.  No  man  likes  to  feel  he  is  the 
shuttlecock  of  blind  forces.  Still  they  are  occasionally 
too  strong  for  me,  and  my  present  attack  has  been  unusu- 
ally severe  and  protracted.  I  have  been  passing  through 
my  father's  early  phases  and  conducting  romances  by  cor- 
respondence. Complimentary  to  the  series  of  messages 
signed  Popsy,  I  had  prepared  a  series  signed  Wopsy  to  go 
in  on  alternate  days,  and  if  you  had  only  continued  your 
search  in  my  coat-pocket  you  would  have  discovered  these 
proofs  of  my  innocence.  May  I  trust  it  is  now  re-estab- 
lished, and  that  "  Olotutu  "  has  washed  away  the  apparent 
stain  on  my  character  ?  With  anxious  heart  I  await  your 
reply. 

"  '  Ever  yours  devotedly, 

" '  GUY.' 

Sybil's  reply  was  :  '  I  have  read  your  letter.  Do  not 
write  to  me  again.'  She  was  so  set  against  him,"  concluded 
Miss  Nimrod,  "  she  would  not  even  write  this  but  wired 
it." 

"  Then  she  does  not  believe  the  story  of  how  Guy 
Fledgely's  father  became  a  baronet,"  said  Lord  Silver- 
dale. 

"  She  does  not.  She  says  '  Olotutu '  won't  wash 
stains." 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  will  be  bringing  her  up,"  said  the 
President. 

"  I  will — in  the  way  she  should  go  ;  "  answered  Wee 
Winnie.  "  To-day  is  Saturday  ;  I  will  bring  her  on  Mon- 
day. Meantime  as  it  is  getting  very  late,  and  as  I  have 
finished  my  lemonade,  I  will  bid  you  good  afternoon — have 
you  used  '  Olotutu  ? '  '  And  with  this  facetious  inquiry 
Miss  Nimrod  twirled  her  stick  and  was  off. 

An  hour  later  Lillie  received  a  wire  from  Wee  Win- 
nie. 


262  'MIE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 


"  Olotutu.       Wretches  just  reconciled.      Letter  follows" 
And  this  was  the  letter  that  came  by  the  first  post  on 
Monday. 


"  MY  POOR  PRESIDENT  : 

"We  have  lost  Sybil.  She  takes  in  the  Hurrygraph 
and  reads  the  agony  column  religiously.  So  all  the  week 
she  has  been  exposed  to  a  terrible  bombardment. 

"As  thus  (Tuesday.)  '  My  lost  darling.  A  thousand 
demons  are  knocking  at  my  door.  Say  you  forgive  me  or  I 
will  let  them  in. — BOBO.' 

"  Or  thus.  (Wednesday.)  '  My  lost  darling.  You  are 
making  a  terrible  mistake.  I  am  innocent.  I  am  writ- 
ing this  on  my  bended  knees.  The  fathers  have  eaten  a 
sour  grape.  Misericordia. — BOBO.' 

"  The  bitter  cry  of  the  outcast  lover  increased  daily  in 
intensity,  till  on  Saturday  it  became  delirious. 

"  '  My  lost  darling.  Save,  O  Save !  I  have  opened  the 
door.  They  are  there — in  their  thousands.  The  chil- 
dren's teeth  are  set  on  edge.  The  grave  is  dug.  Be- 
twixt two  worlds  I  fall  to  the  ground.  Adieu  forever. 
—BOBO.' 

"  Will  you  believe  that  the  poor  little  fool  thought  all 
this  was  meant  for  her,  and  that  in  consequence  she  thawed 
day  by  day  till  on  Saturday  she  melted  entirely  and  gushed 
on  Guy's  shoulder  ?  Guy  admitted  that  he  had  inserted 
these  advertisements,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  (as  he  after- 
wards told  me  in  confidence,  and  as  I  now  tell  you  in  con- 
fidence) that  they  had  been  sent  in  before  the  quarrel  oc- 
curred and  constituted  his  Agony  Column  romance  for  the 
week,  the  Popsy  Wopsy  romance  not  being  intended  for 
publication  till  next  week.  He  had  concocted  these  cries 
of  despairing  passion  without  the  least  idea  they  would 
so  nearly  cover  his  own  case.  But  he  says  that  as  his 


77//-:  OLJ)  MAIDS'  CLUB.  263 

hereditary  craze  got  him  into  the  scrape,  it  was  only  fair 
his  hereditary  craze  should  get  him  out  of  it. 

"  So  that's  the  end  of  Sybil  Hotspur.  But  let  us  not 
lament  her  too  much.  One  so  frail  and  fickle  was  not  of 
the  stuff  of  which  Old  Maids  are  made.  Courage  !  Wee 
Winnie  is  on  the  warpath. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  NELLY." 


264  W-E  OLD  MA  JDS'  CLUB. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  CLUB  BECOMES  POPULAR. 

THE  influence  of  Wee  Winnie  on  the  war-path  was 
soon  apparent.  On  the  following  Wednesday  morning  the 
ante-room  of  the  Club  was  as  crowded  with  candidates  as  if 
Lillie  had  advertised  for  a  clerk  with  three  tongues  at  ten 
pounds  a  year.  Silverdale  had  gone  down  to  Fleet  Street 
to  inquire  if  anything  had  been  heard  of  Miss  Ellaline 
Rand's  projected  paper,  and  Lillie  grappled  with  the  ap- 
plicants single-handed. 

Turple  the  magnificent,  was  told  to  usher  them  into  the 
confessional  one  by  one,  but  the  first  two  candidates  in- 
sisted that  they  were  one,  and  as  he  could  not  tell  which 
one  he  gave  way. 

It  is  said  that  the  shepherd  knows  every  sheep  of  his 
flock  individually,  and  that  a  superintendent  can  tell  one 
policeman  from  another.  Some  music-hall  managers  even 
profess  to  distinguish  between  one  pair  of  singing  sisters 
and  all  the  other  pairs.  But  even  the  most  trained  eye 
would  be  puzzled  to  detect  any  difference  between  these 
two  lovely  young  creatures.  They  were  as  like  as  two 
peas  or  two  cues,  or  the  two  gentlemen  who  mount  and  de- 
cend  together  the  mirror-lined  staircase  of  a  restaurant. 
Interrogated  as  to  the  motives  of  their  would-be  renunci- 
ation, one  of  them  replied :  "  My  sister  and  myself  are 
twins.  We  were  born  so.  When  the  news  was  announced  to 
our  father,  he  is  reported  to  have  exclaimed,  '  What  a  mis- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  265 

fortune  ! '  His  sympathy  was  not  misplaced,  for  from  our 
nursery  days  upward  our  perfect  resemblance  to  each  other 
has  brought  us  perpetual  annoyance.  Do  what  we  would, 
we  never  could  never  get  mistaken  for  each  other.  The 
pleasing  delusion  that  either  of  us  would  be  saddled  with 
the  misdeeds  of  the  other  has  got  us  into  scrapes  without 
number.  At  school  we  each  played  all  sorts  of  pranks, 
making  sure  the  other  would  be  punished  for  them.  Alas ! 
the  consequences  have  always  recoiled  on  the  head  of  the 
guilty  party.  We  were  not  even  whipped  for  neglecting 
each  other's  lessons.  It  was  always  for  neglecting  our 
own.  But  in  spite  of  the  stern  refusal  of  experience  to 
favor  us  with  the  usual  imbroglio,  we  always  went  on 
hoping  that  the  luck  would  turn.  We  read  Shakespeare's 
Comedy  of  Errors,  and  that  confirmed  us  in  our  evil  courses. 
When  we  grew  up,  it  would  be  hard  to  say  which  was  the 
giddier,  for  each  hoped  that  the  other  would  have  to  bear 
the  burden  of  her  escapades.  You  will  have  gathered 
from  our  f riskiness  that  our  parents  were  strict  Puritans, 
but  at  last  they  allowed  an  eligible  young  curate  to  visit 
the  house  with  a  view  to  matrimony.  He  was  too  good 
for  us ;  our  parents  were  as  much  as  we  wanted  in  that 
line.  Unfortunately,  in  this  crisis,  unknown  to  each  other, 
the  old  temptation  seized  us.  Each  felt  it  a  unique  chance 
of  trying  if  the  thing  wouldn't  work.  When  the  other  was 
out  of  the  room,  each  made  love  to  the  unwelcome  suitor 
so  as  to  make  him  fall  in  love  with  her  sister.  Wretched 
victims  of  mendacious  farce-writers  !  The  result  was  that 
he  fell  in  love  with  us  both  !  " 

She  paused  a  moment  overcome  with  emotion,  then  re- 
sumed. "  He  proposed  to  us  both  simultaneously,  vowed 
he  could  not  live  without  us.  He  exclaimed  passionately 
that  he  could  not  be  happy  with  either  were  t'other  dear 
charmer  away.  He  said  he  was  ready  to  become  a  Mor- 
mon for  love  of  us." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


He  was  willing  to  become  a  Mormon. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB.  267 

"  And  what  was  your  reply  ?  "  said  Lillie  anxiously. 

The  fresh  young  voices  broke  out  into  a  duet :  "  We 
told  him  to  ask  papa." 

"  \Ve  were  both  so  overwhelmed  by  this  catastrophe," 
pursued  the  story-teller,  "  that  we  vowed  for  mutual  self- 
protection  against  our  besetting  temptation  to  fribble  at 
the  other's  expense,  never  to  let  each  other  out  of  sight. 
In  the  farces  all  the  mistakes  happen  through  the  twins 
being  on  only  one  at  a  time.  Thus  have  we  balanced 
each  other's  tendencies  to  indiscretion  before  it  was  too 
late,  and  saved  ourselves  from  ourselves.  This  necessity 
of  being  always  together,  imposed  on  us  by  our  unhappy 
resemblance,  naturally  excludes  either  from  marriage." 

Lillie  was  not  favorably  impressed  with  these  skittish 
sisters.  "  I  sympathize  intensely  with  the  sufferings  of 
either,"  she  said  slily,  "  in  being  constrained  to  the  society 
of  the  other.  But  your  motives  of  celibacy  are  not  suf- 
ficiently pure,  nor  have  you  fulfilled  our  prime  condition, 
for  even  granting  that  your  reply  to  the  eligible  young 
Churchman  was  tantamount  to  a  rejection,  it  still  only 
amounts  to  a  half  rejection  each,  which  is  fifty  per  cent, 
below  our  standard." 

She  rang  the  bell.  Turple  the  magnificent  ushered  the 
twins  out  and  the  next  candidate  in.  She  was  an  ethereal 
blonde  in  a  simple  white  frock,  and  her  story  was  as  simple. 

"  Read  this  Rondeau,"  she  said.     "  It  will  tell  you  all.'' 

Lillie  took  the  lines.     They  were  headed 

THE  LOVELY  MAY— AN  OLD  MAID'S  PLAINT. 

The  lovely  May  at  last  is  here, 

Long  summer  days  are  drawing  near, 

And  nights  with  cloudless  moonshine  rich  ; 
In  woodlands  green,  on  waters  clear, 

Soft-couched  in  fern,  or  on  the  mere, 

Gliding  like  some  white  water-witch, 


268  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

Or  lunching  in  a  leafy  niche, 

I  see  my  sweet-faced  sister  dear, 

The  lovely  May. 

She  is  engaged — and  her  career 

Is  one  of  skittles  blent  with  beer, 

While  I,  plain  sewing  left  to  stitch, 

Can  ne'er  expect  those  pleasures  which, 

At  this  bright  season  of  the  year, 

The  lovely  may. 


Lillie  looked  up  interrogatively.  "  But  surely  you  have 
nothing  to  complain  of  in  the  way  of  loveliness  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  am  the  lovely  May.  It  was  my 
sister  who  wrote  that.  She  died  in  June  and  I  found  it 
among  her  manuscripts.  Remorse  set  in  at  the  thought 
of  Maria  stitching  while  I  was  otherwise  engaged.  I  dis- 
engaged myself  at  once.  What's  fair  for  one  is  fair  for 
all.  Women  should  combine.  While  there's  one  woman 
who  can't  get  a  husband,  no  man  should  be  allowed  to  get 
a  wife." 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  cried  Lillie  enthusiastically.  "  Only  I 
am  afraid  there  will  always  be  blacklegs  among  us  who 
will  betray  their  sex  for  the  sake  of  a  husband." 

"  Alas,  yes,"  agreed  the  lovely  May.  "  I  fear  such  was 
the  nature  of  my  sister  Maria.  She  coveted  even  my  first 
husband." 

"  What !  "  gasped  the  President.     "  Are  you  a  widow  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  I  left  off  black  when  I  was  engaged  again, 
and  when  I  was  disengaged  I  dared  not  resume  it  for  fear 
of  seeming  to  mourn  myjianct." 

"  We  cannot  have  widows  in  the  Old  Maids'  Club," 
said  Lillie  regretfully. 

"  Then  I  shall  start  a  new  Widows'  Club  and  Old  Maids 
shall  have  no  place  in  it."  And  the  lovely  May  sailed  out, 
all  smiles  and  tears. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  269 

The  newcomer  was  a  most  divinely  tall  and  most  divinely 
fair  brunette  with  a  brooding,  morbid  expression.  Candi- 
date gave  the  name  of  Miss  Summerson. 

Being  invited  to  make  a  statement,  she  said  :  "  I  have 
abandoned  the  idea  of  marrying.  I  have  no  money.  Ergo, 
I  cannot  afford  to  marry  a  poor  man.  And  I  am  re- 
solved never  to  marry  a  rich  one.  I  want  to  be  loved 
for  myself,  not  for  my  want  of  money.  You  may  stare, 
but  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  What  other  attrac- 
tion have  I  ?  Good  looks  ?  Plenty  of  girls  with  money 
have  that,  who  would  be  glad  to  marry  the  men  I  have  re- 
jected. In  the  town  I  came  from  I  lived  with  my  cousin, 
who  was  an  heiress.  She  was  far  lovelier  than  I.  Yet  all 
the  moneyed  men  were  at  my  feet.  They  were  afraid  of 
being  suspected  of  fortune-hunting  and  anxious  to  vindi- 
cate their  elevation  of  character.  Why  should  I  marry  to 
gratify  a  man's  vanity,  his  cravings  after  cheap  quixotism  ? " 

"  Your  attitude  on  the  great  question  of  the  age  does  you 
infinite  credit,  but  as  you  have  no  banking  account  to  put 
it  to,  you  traverse  the  regulation  requiring  a  property  quali- 
fication," said  the  President. 

"  Is  there  no  way  over  the  difficulty  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not :  unless  you  marry  a  rich  man,  and  that 
disqualifies  you  under  another  rule."  And  Miss  Summer- 
son  passed  sadly  into  the  outer  darkness,  to  be  replaced 
by  a  young  lady  who  gave  the  name  of  Nell  Lightfoot. 
She  wore  a  charming  hat  and  a  smile  like  the  spreading 
of  sunshine  over  a  crystal  pool.  "  I  met  a  young  Scotch- 
man," she  said,  "  at  a  New  Year's  dance,  and  we  were 
favorably  impressed  by  each  other.  On  the  fourteenth 
of  the  following  February  I  received  from  him  a  Valentine, 
containing  a  proposal  of  marriage  and  a  revelation  of  the 
degradation  of  masculine  nature.  It  would  seem  he  had 
two  strings  to  his  bow — the  other  being  a  rich  widow  whom 


2 ;o  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

he  had  met  in  a  Devonshire  lane.  Being  a  Scotchman  he 
had  for  economy's  sake  composed  a  Valentine  which  with 
a  few  slight  alterations  would  do  for  both  of  us.  Unfor- 
tunately for  himself  he  sent  me  the  original  draft  by  mistake 
and  here  is  his 


VERACIOUS  VALENTINE. 

Though  the  weather  is  snowy  and  dreary 
And  a  shiver  careers  down  my  spine, 

Yet  the  heart  in  my  bosom  is  cheery, 
For  I  feel  I've  exchanged  mine  for  thine. 

Do  not  call  it  delusion,  my  dearie, 
But  become  my  own  loved  Valentine. 


T-       <.u   i  {  stormy  June  day  you  )  , 

tor  that     New  £  4r,s  ^J  yoij  must       remember, 


,.r,  j  sheltered  together  from  rain, 

e    \  waltzed  to  a  languorous  strain, 

While  the  sky,  like  the  Fifth  of  November,        ) 

And  our  souls  glowed  despite  'twas  December  j 
Gleamed  with  lightening  outrivalling  P  (    .       \ 
With  a  burning  but  glorious  p  (  ) 

Ah  me  !     In  my  fire's  dying  ember 

*.i_   ^  (  dank  Devonshire  lane. 
I  can  see  that  j  bright  ball.room  again. 


And  )  T        ,        (  of  the  love  that  1        )  , 
Yet   J  l  sP°ke    {  not  then,  fearing  to    f  bore 


And  of  how  for  a  widow  I  }  vearned 

Though  for  maidenly  love  my  heart     j  y 

,       .   .  ,   (  and  fealty  I  swore  you, 
Not  a  schoolgirl  j  ,,d  gazecf  on  be{or£  you, 


And  you  listened  till  sunshine  re-  |  turne(j 

Had  my  heart  with  such  sweet  madness  •  ) 

(  you    /          .   j      (  from  me  who  1     , 
Then    j  ^     }  parted     {  )jut  stm  j         J  adore  you, 

And  my  heart  and  umbrella  you  spurned. 
Though  you  may  not  my  love  have  discerned,        J 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  271 

Not  repelled  by  your  |  ji0"       ~UP  I  money, 

I  adore  you,  my    <  x-e  ,,e>    >  for  yourself, 

You  are  sweeter  than  music  or  honey  ; 

And  Dan  Cupid's  a  sensuous  elf, 
Who  is  drawn  to  the  fair  and  the  sunny, 

And  is  blind  unto  nothing  but  pelf. 

Need  we  feel  a  less  genuine  passion 

Because  we  <        ,.  /  live  in  May-fair  ? 

Love    |  '    >  in  the  hothouse  of  fashion, 

,™.     (  an  orchid  that  flourishes  there  ; 

|  a  moss-rose  that  needs  the  fresh  air ; 
Yet  I  would  not  my  own  darling  lass  shun 

Were  she  even  as  <  "•  ,     /as  she's    < 

There  are  fools  who  adore  a  complexion 
That's  like  strawberries  mingled  with  cream.  ) 
As  with  Nubian  blacking  a  gleam  ( 

^TbSfdeH  y  — p-a-*-. 

And  the  glances  from  -|  ,  ,  '  |  >  eyes  that  beam 

Then  refuse  not  my  deathless  affection, 
Neither  shatter  my  amorous  dream. 

You're  the  very  first  j  m°JJen  }  who's  thrilled  me 

With  the  passion  that  tongue  cannot  tell. 

Of  none  else  have  I  thought  since  you  filled  me 

,,,..,    (  despair  in  that  Devonshire  dell. 

|  unrest  when  the  waltz  wove  its  spell.  ) 
When  your  final  refusal  has  killed  me. 

On  my  heart  will  be  found  graven  <  -^  \\' 


"  How  strange  !  "  said  Lillie.    "  You  combine  the  disquali- 


272  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

fications  of  two  of  the  previous  candidates.  You  are 
apparently  poor  and  you  have  received  only  half  a  pro- 
posal." 

A  flaming  blonde,  whose  brow  was  crowned  with  an  aurora 
of  auburn  hair,  was  the  next  to  burst  upon  the  epigrammatic 
scene.  She  spoke  English  with  an  excellent  Parisian 
accent.  "  One  has  called  me  a  young  woman  in  a  hurry," 
she  said,  "  and  the  description  does  not  want  of  truth.  I 
am  impatient ;  I  have  large  ideas ;  I  am  ambitious.  If 
I  were  a  grocer  I  should  contract  for  the  Sahara.  I  fall 
in  love,  and  when  Alice  Leroux  falls  in  love  it  is  like  the 
volcano  which  goes  to  make  eruption.  Figure  to  your- 
self that  my  man  is  shy — but  of  a  shyness  of  the  most 
ridiculous — that  it  is  necessary  to  make  a  thousand  sweet 
eyes  at  him  before  he  comprehends  that  he  loves  me. 
And  when  he  comprehends  it,  he  does  not  speak.  Mon 
Dieu,  he  does  not  speak,  though  I  speak,  me,  with  fan,  my 
eyes,  my  fingers,  almost  with  my  lips.  He  walks  with  me 
— but  he  does  not  speak.  He  takes  me  to  the  spectacle — 
but  he  does  not  speak.  He  promenades  himself  in  boat 
with  me — but  he  does  not  speak.  I  encircle  him  with  my 
arms,  and  I  speak  with  my  lips  at  last — one,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  kisses.  Overwhelmed,  astonished,  he  returns 
me  my  kisses — hesitatingly,  stupidly,  but  in  fine,  he 
returns  then.  And  then  at  last — with  our  faces  together, 
my  arm  round  his  graceful  waist — he  speaks.  The  first 
words  of  love  comes  from  his  mouth — and  what  think  you 
that  he  say  ?  Say  then." 

"  I  love  you  ?  "  murmured  Lillie. 

"  A  thousand  thunders  !  No  !  He  says  :  '  Miss  Leroux 
— Alice  ;  may  I  call  you  Alice  ? ' ' 

"  I  see  nothing  to  wonder  at  in  that,"  replied  Lillie 
quietly.  "  Remember  that  for  a  man  to  kiss  you  is  a  less 
serious  step  than  for  him  to  call  you  Alice.  That  were  a 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  273 


Z encircle  him  with  my  arms  and  speak  with  my  2ips. 
18 


274  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

stage  on  the  road  to  marriage,  and  should  only  be  reached 
through  the  gate  of  betrothal.  Changes  of  name  are  the 
outward  marks  of  a  woman's  development  as  much  as 
changes  of  form  accompany  the  growth  of  the  caterpillar. 
You,  for  instance,  began  life  as  Alice.  In  due  course  you 
became  Miss  Alice  ;  if  you  were  the  eldest  daughter  you 
became  Miss  Leroux  at  once ;  if  you  were  not,  you 
inherited  the  name  only  on  your  sister's  death  or  mar- 
riage ;  when  you  are  betrothed  you  will  revert  to  the 
simple  Alice,  and  when  you  are  married  you  will  become 
Mrs.  Something  Else  ;  and  every  time  you  get  married,  if 
you  are  careful  to  select  husbands  of  varying  patronymics, 
you  will  be  furnished  with  a  change  of  name  as  well  as 
of  address.  Providence,  which  has  conferred  so  many 
sufferings  upon  woman,  has  given  her  this  one  advantage 
over  man,  who  in  the  majority  of  instance  is  doomed  to 
the  monotony  of  ossified  nomenclature,  and  has  to  wear 
the  same  name  on  his  tombstone  which  he  wore  on  his 
Eton  collar." 

"  That  is  all  a  heap  of  galimatias,"  replied  the  Parisi- 
enne  with  the  flaming  hair  "  If  I  kiss  a  man,  I,  surely 
he  may  call  me  Alice  without  demanding  it  ?  Bah!  Let 
him  love  your  misses  with  eau  sucree  in  their  veins. 
When  he  insulted  me  with  his  stupidity,  I  became  furious. 
I  threw  him — how  you  say  ? — overboard  on  the  in- 
stant." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  gasped  Lillie.  '*  Then  you  are  a 
murderess  !  " 

"  Figure  you  to  yourself  that  I  speak  at  the  foot  of  the 
letter  ?  Know  you  not  the  idioms  of  your  own  barbarian 
tongue  ?  It  seems  to  me  you  are  as  mad  as  he.  Perhaps 
you  are  his  sister." 

"  Certainly.  Our  rules  require  us  to  regard  all  men  as 
brothers." 

"He  I     What?" 


/"///•  OLD  MAIDS'  r/r/v.  275 

"We  have  rejected  the  love  of  all  men  ;  consequently 
we  have  to  regard  them  all  as  our  brothers." 

"  That  man  there  my  brother !  "  shrieked  Alice. 
"  Never !  Never  of  my  life !  I  would  rather  marry 
first !  "  And  she  went  off  to  do  so. 

The  last  of  these  competitors  for  the  Old  Maiden 
Stakes  was  a  whirlwind  in  petticoats  who  welcomed  the 
President  very  affably.  "  Good-morning,  Miss  Dulcimer," 
she  said.  "  I've  heard  of  you.  I'm  from  Boston  way. 
You  know  I  travel  about  the  world  in  search  of  culture. 
I'm  spending  the  day  in  Europe,  so  I  thought  I'd  look  you 
up.  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  epitomize  your  scheme 
in  twenty  words  ?  I've  got  to  see  the  Madonna  del  Car- 
dellino  in  the  Uffizi  at  Florence  before  ten  to-morrow,  and 
I  want  to  hear  an  act  of  the  Meistersingers  at  Bayreuth 
after  tea." 

"  I'm  rather  tired,"  pleaded  Lillie,  overwhelmed  by 
the  dynamic  energy  radiating  from  every  square  inch  of 
the  Bostonian's  superficies.  "  I  have  had  a  hard  morn- 
ing's work.  Couldn't  you  call  again  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Impossible.  I  have  just  wired  to  Damietta  to  secure 
rooms  commanding  a  view  of  Professor  Tickledroppe's 
excavations  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile.  I  dote  on  archaeo- 
logical treasures  and  thought  I  should  like  to  see  the  Old 
Maids.  Are  they  on  view  ?  " 

"  No,  they  are  not  here,"  said  Lillie  evasively.  "  But 
do  you  want  to  join  us  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  have  time  ?  I  remember  I  once  wasted  a 
week  getting  married.  Some  women  waste  their  whole 
lives  that  way.  Marriage  is  an  incident  of  life's  novel — 
they  make  it  the  whole  plot.  I  don't  say  it  isn't  an  in- 
teresting experience.  Every  woman  ought  to  go  through 
it  once,  but  with  the  infinite  possibilities  of  culture  lying 
all  round  us  it's  mere  Philistinism  to  give  one  husbandman 
more  than  a  week  of  your  society.  Mine  is  a  physician 


276  THE  OLD  MA  JDS'  CLUB. 

practising  in  Philadelphia.  Judging  by  the  checks  he 
sends  me  he  must  be  a  successful  man.  Well,  I  am  real 
glad  to  have  had  this  little  talk  with  you,  it's  been  so  in- 
teresting. I  will  become  an  Honorary  Member  of  your 
charming  Club  with  pleasure." 

"  You  cannot  if  you  are  married.  You  can  only  be  a 
visitor." 

"  What's  my  being  married  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  inquired 
the  American  in  astonishment.  "  This  is  the  first  time  I 
have  ever  heard  that  the  name  of  a  club  has  anything  to  do 
with  the  membership.  Are  the  members  of  the  Savage 
Club  savages,  of  the  Garrick  Garricks,  of  the  Supper  Club 
suppers  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  men,"  Lillie  said  haughtily.  "  I  could 
pass  over  your  relation  to  the  hub  of  the  universe,  but 
when  it  comes  to  having  a  private  hub  I  have  no  option." 

"  Well,  this  may  be  your  English  idea  of  hospitality  to 
travellers  of  culture,"  replied  the  Bostonian  warmly,  "  but 
if  you  come  to  our  crack  Crank  Club  in  the  fall  you  shall 
be  as  welcome  as  a  brand  new  poet.  Good-bye.  Hope 
we  shall  meet  again.  I  shall  be  in  Hong  Kong  in  June 
if  you  like  to  drop  in.  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Lillie,  pressing  one  hand  against  the 
visitor's  and  the  other  to  her  aching  forehead. 

Silverdale  found  her  dissolved  in  tears.  "  In  future," 
he  said,  when  she  had  explained  her  troubles,  "  I  shall 
hang  the  rules  and  by-laws  in  the  waiting  room.  The  can- 
didates will  then  be  able  to  eliminate  themselves.  By 
the  way,  Ellaline  Rand's  Cherub  is  going  to  sit  up  aloft, — 
on  a  third  floor  in  Fleet  Street. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


277 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  MUSICAL  BAR. 

WHEN  Turple  the  magnificent,  looking  uneasy,  brought 
up  Frank  Maddox's  card,  Lillie  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise 
and  pleasure.  Frank  Maddox  was  a  magic  name  to  her 
as  to  all  the  elect  of  the  world  of  sweetness  and  light. 
After  a  moment  of  nervous  anxiety  lest  it  should  not  be 
the  Frank  Maddox,  her  fears  were  dispelled  by  the  entry 
of  the  great  authority  on  art  and  music,  whose  face  was 
familiar  to  her  from  frontispiece  portraits.  Few  critics 
possessed  such  charms  of  style  and  feature  as  Frank 
Maddox,  who  had  a  delicious  retrousse  nose,  a  dainty  rose- 
bud mouth,  blue  eyes,  and  a  wealth  of  golden  hair. 

Lillie's  best  hopes  were  confirmed.  The  famous  critic 
wished  to  become  an  Old  Maid.  The  President  and  the 
new  and  promising  candidate  had  a  delightful  chat  over  a 
cup  of  tea  and  the  prospects  of  the  Club.  The  two  girls 
speedily  became  friends. 

"  But  if  you  join  us,  hadn't  you  better  go  back  to  your 
maiden  name  ?  "  inquired  Lillie. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Frank  Maddox  thoughtfully.  "  My 
pen-name  does  sound  odd  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances. On  the  other  hand  to  revert  to  Laura  Spragg 
now  might  be  indiscreet.  People  would  couple  my  name 
with  Frank  Maddox's — you  know  the  way  of  the  world. 
The  gossips  get  their  facts  so  distorted,  and  I  couldn't 
even  deny  the  connection." 


278  THK  OLD  MA/ZJS'  CLUB. 

"  But  of  course  you  have  had  your  romance  ?  "  asked 
Lillie.  "  You  know  one  romance  per  head  is  our  charge 
for  admission  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  have  had  my  romance.  In  three  vols. 
Shall  I  tell  it  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Listen,  then.  Volume  the  First  :  Frank  Maddox  is  in 
her  study.  Outside  the  sun  is  setting  in  furrows  of  gold- 
laced  sagging  storm-clouds,  dun  and — 

"  Oh,  please,  I  always  skip  that,"  laughed  Lillie.  "  I 
know  that  two  lovers  cannot  walk  in  a  lane  without  the 
author  seeing  the  sunset,  which  is  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  the  lovers  see.  But  when  the  sky  begins  to  look 
black,  I  always  begin  to  skip." 

"  Forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it.  Remember  I'm 
an  habitual  art-critic.  I  thought  I  was  describing  a 
harmony  of  Whistler's  or  a  movement  from  a  sonata.  It 
shall  not  occur  again.  To  the  heroine  enter  the  hero — 
shabby,  close- cropped,  pale.  Their  eyes  meet.  He  is 
thunderstruck  to  find  the  heroine  a  woman ;  blushes, 
stammers,  and  offers  to  go  away.  Struck  by  something 
of  innate  refinement  in  his  manner,  she  presses  him  to 
avow  the  object  of  his  visit.  At  last,  in  dignified  lan- 
guage, infinitely  touching  in  its  reticence,  he  confesses  he 
called  on  Mr.  Frank  Maddox,  the  writer  he  admires  so 
much,  to  ask  a  little  pecuniary  help.  He  is  starving. 
Original,  isn't  it,  to  have  your  hero  hungry  in  the  first 
chapter  ?  He  speaks  vaguely  of  having  ambitions  which, 
unless  he  goes  under  in  the  struggle  for  existence  may 
some  day  be  realized.  There  are  so  many  men  in  Lon- 
don like  that.  However,  the  heroine  is  moved  by  his  desti- 
tute condition  and  sitting  down  to  her  desk,  she  writes  out 
a  note,  folds  it  up  and  gives  it  to  him.  '  There  ! '  she  says, 
'  there's  a  prescription  against  starvation.'  '  But  how  am 
I  to  take  it  ? '  he  asked.  '  It  must  be  taken  before  break- 


/'///•:  oi.n  MAIDS-  c 


279 


There's  a  prescription  against  starvation." 


28o  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

fast,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,'  she  replied,  '  to  the 
editor  of  the  Moon.  Give  him  the  note  ;  he  will  change  it 
for  you.  Don't  mention  my  name.' 

"  He  thanked  me  and  withdrew." 

"  And  what  was  in  the  note  ?  "  asked  Lillie  curiously. 

"  I  can't  quite  remember.  But  something  of  this  sort. 
'  The  numerous  admirers  of  Frank  Maddox  well  be  grati- 
fied to  hear  that  she  has  in  the  press  a  volume  of  essays 
on  the  part  played  by  color-blindness  in  the  symphonic 
movements  of  the  time.  The  great  critic  is  still  in  town 
but  leaves  for  Torquay  next  Tuesday.'  For  that  the 
editor  of  the  Moon  gave  him  half-a-crown." 

"  Do  you  call  that  charity  ?  "  said  Lillie,  astonished. 

"  Certainly.  Charity  begins  at  home.  Do  many  people 
give  charity  except  to  advertise  themselves  ?  Philan- 
thropy by  paragraph  is  a  perquisite  of  fame.  Why,  I  have 
a  pensioner  who  comes  in  for  all  my  Acadccttm  paragraphs. 
That  Moon  part  saved  our  hero  from  starvation.  "  Years 
afterwards  I  learnt  he  had  frittered  away  two-pence  in 
having  his  hair  cut." 

"  It  seems  strange  for  a  starving  man  to  get  his  hair 
cut,"  said  Lillie. 

"  Not  when  you  know  the  cause,"  replied  Frank 
Maddox.  "  It  was  his  way  of  disguising  himself.  And 
this  brings  me  to  Volume  Two.  The  years  pass.  Once 
again  I  am  in  my  study.  There  is  a  breath  of  wind 
among  the  elms  in  the  front  garden,  and  the  sky  is  strewn 
with  vaporous  sprays  of  apple-blossom 1  beg  your  par- 
don. Re-enter  the  hero,  spruce,  frock-coated,  dignified. 
He  recalls  himself  to  my  memory — but  I  remember  him 
only  too  well.  He  tells  me  that  my  half-crown  saved  him 
at  the  turning-point  of  his  career,  that  he  has  now  achieved 
fame  and  gold,  that  he  loves  my  writing  more  passionately 
than  ever,  and  that  he  has  come  to  ask  me  to  crown  his 
life.  The  whole  thing  is  so  romantic  that  I  am  about  to 


77/A   OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  281 

whisper  '  yes  '  when  an  instinct  of  common  sense  comes 
to  my  aid  and  my  half-opened  lips  murmur  instead  :  '  But 
the  name  you  sent  up — Horace  Paul — it  is  not  known  to 
me.  You  say  you  have  won  fame.  I,  at  least,  have  never 
heard  of  you.' 

"'Of  course  not,' he  replies.  'How  should  you?  If 
I  were  Horace  Paul  you  would  not  marry  me ;  just  as  I 
should  certainly  not  marry  you  if  you  were  Frank  Maddox. 
But  what  of  Paul  Horace  ?  '  " 

"  Paul  Horace,"  cried  Lillie.     "  The  great  composer  !  " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  exclaimed.  And  my  hero  an- 
swers :  '  The  composer,  great  or  little.  None  but  a  few 
intimates  connect  me  with  him.  The  change  of  name 
is  too  simple.  I  always  had  a  longing — call  it  morbid  if 
you  will — for  obscurity  in  the  midst  of  renown.  I  have 
weekly  harvests  of  hair  to  escape  any  suspicion  of  musi- 
cal attainments.  But  you  and  I,  dearest — think  of  what 
our  life  will  be  enriched  by  our  common  love  of  the  noblest 
of  the  arts.  Outside,  the  marigolds  nod  to  the  violets, 
the  sapphire — excuse  me,  I  mean  to  say —  -'  thus  he  ram- 
bled on,  growing  in  enthusiasm  with  every  ardent  phrase, 
the  while  a  deadly  coldness  was  fastening  round  my  heart. 
For  I  felt  that  it  could  not  be." 

"  And  why  ?  "  inquired  Lillie  in  astonishment.  "  It 
seems  one  of  the  marriages  made  in  heaven." 

"  I  dared  not  tell  him  why ;  and  I  can  only  tell  you  on 
condition  you  promise  to  keep  my  secret." 

"  I  promise." 

"  Listen,"  whispered  the  great  critic.  "  I  know  nothing 
about  music  or  art,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would  find  me 
out." 

Lillie  fell  back  in  her  chair,  white  and  trembling.  An- 
other idol  shivered  !  "  But  how ? "  she  gasped. 

"  There,  then,  don't  take  on  so,"  said  the  great  critic 
kindly.  "  I  did  not  think  you,  too,  were  such  an  admirer  of 


282  ///A  OJ-D  MAWS'  CLUB. 

mine,  else  I  might  have  spared  you  the  shock.  You  ask 
how  it  is  done.  Well,  I  didn't  set  out  to  criticise.  1  can 
at  least  plead  that  in  extenuation.  My  nature  is  not  wil- 
fully perverse.  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  as  pure  and 
above  criticism  as  yourself."  She  paused  and  furtively 
wiped  away  a  tear,  then  resumed  more  calmly,  "  I 
drifted  into  it.  For  years  I  toiled  on,  without  ever  a 
thought  of  musical  and  art  criticism  sullying  my  maiden 
meditations.  My  downfall  was  gradual.  In  early  maiden- 
hood I  earnt  my  living  as  a  type-writer.  1  had  always 
had  literary  yearnings,  but  the  hard  facts  of  life  allowed 
me  only  this  rough  approximation  to  my  ideal.  Accident 
brought  excellent  literature  to  my  machine,  and  it  required 
all  my  native  honesty  not  to  steal  the  plots  of  the  nov- 
elists and  the  good  things  of  the  playwrights.  The  latter 
was  the  harder  temptation  to  resist,  for  when  the  play 
was  good  enough  to  be  worth  stealing  from,  I  knew  it 
would  never  be  produced  and  my  crime  never  discovered. 
Still  in  spite  of  my  honesty,  I  benefited  indirectly  by  my 
type-writing,  for  contact  with  so  much  admirable  work 
fostered  the  graceful  literary  style  which,  between  you 
and  me,  is  my  only  merit.  In  time  I  plucked  up  courage 
to  ask  one  of  my  clients,  a  journalist,  if  he  could  put  some 
newspaper  work  in  my  way.  '  What  can  you  do  ? '  he 
asked  in  surprise.  '  Anything,'  I  replied  with  maiden 
modesty.  '  I  see,  that's  your  special  line,'  he  said  mus- 
ingly. '  Unfortunately  we  are  full  up  in  that  department. 
You  see,  everyone  turns  his  hand  to  that — it's  like  school- 
mastering,  the  first  thing  people  think  of.  It's  a  pity  you 
are  a  girl,  because  the  way  to  journalistic  distinction  lies 
through  the  position  of  office-boy.  Office-girl  sounds 
strange.  I  doubt  whether  they  would  have  you  except 
on  a  Freethought  organ.  Our  office-boy  has  to  sweep  out 
the  office  and  review  the  novels,  else  you  might  commence 
humbly  as  a  critic  of  literature.  It  isn't  a  bad  post  either, 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  283 

for  he  supplements  his  income  by  picking  rejected  matter 
out  of  the  waste  paper  basket  and  surreptitiously  lodging  it 
in  the  printer's  copy  pigeonhole.  His  income  in  fees  from 
journalistic  aspirants  must  be  considerable.  Yes,  had  you 
been  a  boy  you  might  have  made  a  pretty  good  thing  out 
of  literature  !  Then  there  is  no  chance  at  all  for  me  on 
your  paper  ? '  I  inquired  desperately.  '  None,'  he  said 
sadly.  '  Our  editor  is  an  awful  old  fogey.  He  is  vehemently 
opposed  to  the  work  of  outsiders,  and  if  you  were  to  send 
him  his  own  leaders  in  envelopes  he  would  say  they  were 
rot.  For  once  he  would  be  a  just  critic.  You  see,  there- 
fore, what  your  own  chance  is.  Even  I,  who  have  been 
on  the  staff  for  years,  couldn't  do  anything  to  help  you. 
No,  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope  for  you  unless  you 
approach  our  office-boy.'  I  thanked  him  warmly  for  his 
advice  and  encouragement,  and  within  a  fortnight  an 
article  of  mine  appeared  in  the  paper.  It  was  called 
'  The  Manuscripts  of  Authors,'  and  revealed  in  a  refined 
and  ladylike  way  the  secrets  of  the  chirographic  character- 
istics of  the  manuscripts  I  had  to  type-write.  My  friend 
said  I  was  exceedingly  practical " 

"  Exceedingly  practical,"  agreed  Lillie  with  a  suspicion 
of  a  sneer. 

"  Because  most  amateur  journalists  write  about  abstract 
principles,  whereas  I  had  sliced  out  for  the  public  a  bit  of 
concrete  fact,  and  the  great  heart  of  the  people  went  out 
to  hear  the  details  of  the  way  Brown  wrote  his  books, 
Jones  his  jokes,  and  Robinson  his  recitations.  The  article 
made  a  hit,  and  annoyed  the  authors  very  much." 

"  So,  I  should  think,"  said  Lillie.  "  Didn't  they  with- 
draw their  custom  from  you  instanter  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  They  didn't  know  it  was  I.  Only  my  journal- 
istic friend  knew ;  and  he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to 
give  away  my  secret.  I  wrote  to  the  editor  under  the 
name  of  Frank  Maddox,  thanking  him  for  having  inserted 


284 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


isltiwitff 

.-.j  :-\  • 

8Sil<JSSS«Kwiiw3/:iSii;   :  -.:,; 


boy  edits  the  paper. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  285 

my  article,  and  the  editor  said  to  my  friend,  '  Egad,  I  fancy 
I've  made  a  discovery  there.  Why,  if  I  were  to  pay  any 
attention  to  your  idea  of  keeping  strictly  to  the  old 
grooves,  the  paper  would  stagnate,  my  boy,  simply 
stagnate.'  The  editor  was  right,  for  my  friend  assured 
me  the  paper  would  have  died  long  before,  if  the  office- 
boy  had  not  condescended  to  edit  it.  Anyhow,  it  was  to 
that  office-boy  I  owed  my  introduction  to  literature.  The 
editor  was  very  proud  of  having  discovered  me,  and,  being 
installed  in  his  good  graces,  I  passed  rapidly  into 
dramatic  criticism,  and  was  even  allowed  to  understudy 
the  office-boy  as  literary  reviewer.  He  could  not  stomach 
historical  novels,  and  handed  over  to  me  all  works  with 
pronouns  in  the  second  person.  Gradually  I  rose  to 
higher  things,  but  it  was  not  until  I  had  been  musical  and 
art  critic  for  over  eighteen  months  that  the  editor  learnt 
that  the  writer  whose  virile  style  he  had  often  dilated 
upon  to  my  friend  was  a  woman." 

"  And  what  did  he  do  when  he  learnt  it  ?  "  asked  Lillie. 

"  He  swore " 

"  Profane  man  !  "  cried  Lillie. 

"  That  he  loved  me — me  whom  he  had  never  seen.  Of 
course,  I  declined  him  with  thanks  ;  happily  there  was  a 
valid  excuse,  because  he  had  written  his  communication 
on  both  sides  of  the  paper.  But  even  this  technical  touch 
did  not  mollify  him,  and  he  replied  that  my  failure  to 
appreciate  him  showed  I  could  no  longer  be  trusted  as  a 
critic.  Fortunately  my  work  had  been  signed,  my  fame 
was  established.  I  collected  my  articles  into  a  book  and 
joined  another  paper." 

"  But  you  haven't  yet  told  me  how  it  is  done  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  least.  You  see,  to  be  a  critic  it  is  not 
essential  to  know  anything — you  must  simply  be  able  to 
write.  To  be  a  great  critic  you  must  simply  be  able  to  write 
well.  In  my  omniscience,  or  catholic  ignorance.  I  natu- 


286  THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB. 

rally  looked  about  for  the  subject  on  which  I  could  most 
profitably  employ  my  gift  of  style  with  the  least  chance 
of  being  found  out.  A  moment's  consideration  will  con- 
vince you  that  the  most  difficult  branches  of  criticism  are 
the  easiest.  Of  musical  and  artistic  matters  not  one  person 
in  a  thousand  understands  aught  but  the  rudiments  :  here, 
then,  is  the  field  in  which  the  critical  ignoramus  may 
expatiate  at  large  with  the  minimum  danger  of  discovery. 
Nay,  with  no  scintilla  of  danger ;  for  the  subject  matter  is 
so  obscure  and  abstruse  that  the  grossest  of  errors  may 
put  on  a  bold  face  and  parade  as  a  profundity,  or,  driven 
to  bay,  proclaim  itself  a  paradox.  Only  say  what  you 
have  not  got  to  say  authoritatively  and  well,  and  the  world 
shall  fall  down  and  worship  you.  The  place  of  art  in 
religion  has  undergone  a  peculiar  historical  development. 
First  men  worshipped  the  object  of  art ;  then  they  wor- 
shipped the  artist ;  and  nowadays  they  worship  the  art 
critic." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Lillie  reflectively.  "  This  age  has 
witnessed  the  apotheosis  of  the  art  critic." 

"  And  of  all  critics.  And  yet  what  can  be  more  evident 
than  that  the  art  of  criticism  was  never  in  such  a  critical 
condition  ?  Nobody  asks  to  see  the  critic's  credentials. 
He  is  taken  at  his  own  valuation.  There  ought  to  be  an 
examination  to  protect  the  public.  Even  schoolmasters 
are  now  required  to  have  certificates  ;  while  those  who 
pretend  to  train  the  larger  mind  in  the  way  it  should  think 
are  left  to  work  their  mischief  uncontrolled.  No  dramatic 
critic  should  be  allowed  to  practise  without  an  elementary 
knowledge  of  human  life,  law,  Shakespeare,  and  French. 
The  musical  critic  should  be  required  to  be  able  to  per- 
form on  some  one  instrument  other  than  his  own  trumpet, 
to  distinguish  tune  from  tonality,  to  construe  the  regular 
sonata,  to  comprehend  the  plot  of  //  Trovatore,  and  to 
understand  the  motives  of  Wagner.  The  art  critic  should 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  287 

be  able  to  discriminate  between  a  pastel  and  a  water- 
color,  an  impressionist  drawing  and  a  rough  sketch,  to 
know  the  Dutch  school  from  the  Italian,  and  the  female 
figure  from  the  male,  to  translate  morbidezza  and  chiar- 
oscuro, and  failing  this,  to  be  aware  of  the  existence  and 
uses  of  a  vanishing  point.  A  doctor's  certificate  should 
also  be  produced  to  testify  that  the  examinee  is  in  pos- 
session of  all  the  normal  faculties ;  deafness,  blindness, 
and  color-blindness  being  regarded  as  disqualifications, 
and  no  one  should  be  allowed  to  practise  unless  he 
enjoyed  a  character  for  common  honesty  supplemented 
by  a  testimonial  from  a  clergyman,  for  although  art  is 
non-moral  the  critic  should  be  moral.  This  would  be 
merely  the  passman  stage ;  there  could  always  be  exami- 
nations in  honors  for  the  graduates.  Once  the  art  critics 
were  educated,  the  progress  of  the  public  would  be  rapid. 
They  would  no  longer  be  ready  to  admire  the  canvases  of 
Michael  Angelo,  who,  as  I  learnt  the  other  day  for  the 
first  time,  painted  frescoes,  nor  would  they  prefer  him,  as 
unhesitatingly  as  they  do  now,  to  Buonarotti,  which  is  his 
surname,  nor  would  they  imagine  Raffaelle's  Cartoons 
appeared  in  Puncinello.  All  these  mistakes  I  have  myself 
made,  though  no  one  discovered  them  ;  while  in  the  realm 
of  music  no  one  has  more  misrepresented  the  masters, 
more  discouraged  the  overtures  of  young  composers." 

"  But  still  I  do  not  understand  how  it  is  done,"  urged 
Lillie. 

"  You  shall  have  my  formula  in  a  nutshell.  I  had  to 
be  a  musical  critic  and  an  art  critic.  I  was  ignorant  of 
music  and  knew  nothing  of  art.  But  I  was  a  dab  at 
language.  When  I  was  talking  of  music,  I  used  the 
nomenclature  of  art.  I  spoke  of  light  and  shade,  color 
and  form,  delicacy  of  outline,  depth  and  atmosphere,  per 
spective,  foreground  and  background,  nocturnes  and 
harmonies  in  blue.  I  analyzed  symphonies  pictorially 


288  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

and  explained  what  I  saw  defiling  before  me  as  the  music 
swept  on.  Sunsets  and  belvedere  towers,  swarthy  Paynims 
on  Shetland  ponies,  cypress  plumes  and  Fra  Angelico's 
cherubs,  lumps  of  green  clay  and  delicate  pillared  loggias, 
fennel  tufts  and  rococo  and  scarlet  anemones,  and  over 
all  the  trail  of  the  serpent.  Thus  I  created  an  epoch  in 
musical  criticism.  On  the  other  hand,  when  I  had  to  deal 
with  art,  I  was  careful  to  eschew  every  suggestion  of  the 
visual  vocabulary  and  to  confine  myself  to  musical  phrases. 
In  talking  of  pictures,  I  dwelt  upon  their  counter-point 
and  their  orchestration,  their  changes  of  key  and  the 
evolution  of  their  ideas,  their  piano  and  forte-passages,  and 
their  bars  of  rest,  their  allegro  and  diminuendo  aspects, 
their  suspensions  on  the  dominant.  I  spoke  of  them  as 
symphonies  and  sonatas  and  masses,  said  one  was  too 
staccato  and  another  too  full  of  consecutive  sevenths, 
and  a  third  in  need  of  transposition  to  the  minor.  Thus 
I  created  an  epoch  in  art  criticism.  In  both  departments 
the  vague  and  shifting  terms  I  introduced  enabled  me  to 
evade  mistakes  and  avoid  detection,  while  the  creation 
of  two  epochs  gave  me  the  very  first  place  in  contemporary 
criticism.  There  is  nothing  in  which  I  would  not  under- 
take to  create  an  epoch.  I  no  not  say  I  have  always  been 
happy,  and  it  has  been  a  source  of  constant  regret  to  me 
that  I  had  not  even  learnt  to  play  the  piano  when  a  girl 
and  that  unplayed  music  still  remained  to  me  little  black 
dots." 

"  And  so  you  did  not  dare  marry  the  composer  ? " 
"  No,  nor  tell  him  why.  Volume  Three  :  I  said  I  admired 
him  so  much  that  I  wanted  to  go  on  devoting  critical 
essays  to  him,  and  my  praises  would  be  discounted  by  the 
public  if  I  were  his  wife.  Was  it  not  imprudent  for  him 
to  alienate  the  leading  critic  by  marrying  her  ?  Rather 
would  I  sacrifice  myself  and  continue  to  criticise  him.  But 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  289 

I  love  him,  and  it  is  for  his  sake  I  would  become  an  Old 
Maid." 

"  I  would  rather  you  didn't,"  said  Lillie,  her  face  still 
white. .  "  I  have  found  so  much  inspiration  in  your  books 
that  I  could  not  bear  to  be  daily  reminded  I  ought  not  to 
have  found  it." 

Poor  president !  The  lessons  of  experience  were  hard  ! 
The  Club  taught  her  much  she  were  happier  without. 

That  day  Lord  Silverdale  appropriately  intoned  (with 
banjo  obligate)  a  patter-song  which  he  pretended  to  have 
written  at  the  Academy,  whence  he  had  just  come  with  the 
conventional  splitting  headache. 

AFTER  THE  ACADEMY— A  JINGLE. 

(NOT  BY  ALFRED  JINGLE.) 

BRAIN  a-whirling,  pavement  twirling, 
Cranium  aching,  almost  baking, 
Mind  a  muddle,  puddle,  fuddle. 
Million  pictures,  million  mixtures, 
Small  and  great  'uns,  Brown's  and  Leighton'si 
Sky  and  wall  'uns,  short  and  tall  'uns, 
Pseudo  classic  for,  alas !  Sic 
Transit  gloria  sub  Vic  tor i&}, 
Landscape,  figure,  white  or  nigger, 
Steely  etchings,  inky  sketchings, 
Genre,  portrait  (not  one  caught  trait), 
Eke  historic  (kings  plethoric), 
Realistic,  prize-fight-fistic, 
Entozoic,  nude,  heroic, 
Coarse,  poetic,  homiletic, 
Still-life  (flowers,  tropic  bowers), 
Pure  domestic,  making  breast  tick 
With  emotion  ;  endless  ocean, 
Glaze  or  scrumble,  craze  and  jumble, 
Varnish  mastic,  sculpture  plastic, 
Canvas,  paper  (oh,  for  taper!) 
Oil  and  water,  (oh,  for  slaughter  !) 
19 


290 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB. 

Children,  cattle,  'busses,  battle, 

Seamen,  satyrs,  lions,  waiters, 

Nymphs  and  peasants,  peers  and  pheasants, 

Dogs  and  flunkeys,  gods  and  monkeys 

Half-dressed  ladies,  views  of  Hades, 

Phillis  tripping,  seas  and  shipping, 

Hearth  and  meadow,  brooks  and  bread-dough, 

Doves  and  dreamers,  stars  and  steamers, 

Saucepans,  blossoms,  rags,  opossums, 

Tramway,  cloudland,  wild  and  ploughed  land, 

Gents  and  mountains,  clocks  and  fountains, 

Pan  and  pansy — these  of  fancy 

Have  possession  in  procession 

Never-ending,  ever  blending, 

All  a-flitter  and  a-glitter, 

Ever  prancing,  ever  dancing, 

Ever  whirling,  ever  curling, 

Ever  swirling,  ever  twirling, 

Ever  bobbing,  ever  throbbing. 

Ho,  some  brandy — is  it  handy  ? 

Air  seems  tainting,  I  am  fainting. 

Hang  all— no,  don't  hang  all— painting  ! 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCH.  291 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL   GHOUL. 

WEE  Winnie  called  at  the  Club,  while  the  President 
was  still  under  the  cloud  of  depression,  and  Lillie  had  to 
force  herself  to  look  cheerful,  lest  Miss  Nimrod  should 
mistake  the  melancholy,  engendered  by  so  many  revela- 
tions of  the  seamy  side  of  life,  for  loss  of  faith  in  the  Club 
or  its  prospects. 

Avid  of  experience  as  was  the  introspective  little  girl, 
she  felt  almost  fated  for  the  present. 

Miss  Nimrod  was  astonished  to  hear  of  the  number  of 
rejections,  and  to  learn  that  she  had  whipped  up  the 
Writers,  and  the  Junior  Widows,  and  her  private  friends 
to  such  little  purpose.  But  in  the  end  she  agreed  with 
Lillie  that,  as  no  doubt  somewhere  or  other  in  the  wide 
universe  ideal  Old  Maids  were  blooming  and  breathing, 
it  would  be  folly  to  clog  themselves  up  in  advance  with 
inferior  specimens. 

The  millionaire,  who  was  pottering  about  in  blue  spec- 
tacles, strolled  into  the  club  while  Wee  Winnie  was  utter- 
ing magnificent  rhapsodies  about  the  pages  the  Club 
would  occupy  in  the  histories  of  England,  but  this  time 
Lillie  was  determined  the  dignity  of  the  by-laws  should 
be  maintained,  and  had  her  father  shown  out  by  Turple 
the  magnificent.  Miss  Nimrod  went,  too,  and  so  Lord 
Silverdale  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  Lillie  alone. 


292  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  You  ought  to  present  me  with  a  pair  of  white  gloves," 
he  said,  gleefully. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Lillie. 

"  I  haven't  had  a  single  candidate  to  try  for  days." 

"  No,"  said  Lillie  with  a  suspicion  of  weariness  in  her 
voice.  "They  all  broke  down  in  the  elementary  stage." 

Even  as  she  spoke  Turple  the  magnificent  ushered  in 
Miss  Margaret  Linbridge.  Lord  Silverdale,  doubly  vexed 
at  having  been  a  little  too  previous  in  the  counting  of  his 
chickens,  took  up  his  hat  to  go,  but  Lillie  murmured  : 
"  Please  amuse  yourself  in  the  library  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  as  I  may  want  you  to  do  the  trying  at  once." 

"  How  do  you  expect  me  to  amuse  myself  in  the  library  ?  " 
he  grumbled.  "  You  don't  keep  one  of  my  books." 

Miss  Margaret  Linbridge's  story  was  simple,  almost 
commonplace. 

"  I  had  spent  Christmas  with  a  married  sister  in  Plym- 
outh," she  said,  "  and  was  returning  to  London  by  the 
express  on  the  first  of  January.  My  prospects  for  the 
New  Year  were  bright — or  seemed  so  to  my  then  unso- 
phisticated eyes.  I  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Richard 
Westbourne — a  good  and  good-looking  young  man,  not 
devoid  of  pecuniary  attractions.  My  brother,  with  whom 
I  lived  and  on  whom  I  was  dependent,  was  a  struggling 
young  firework-manufacturer,  and  would,  I  knew,  be  glad 
to  see  me  married,  even  if  it  cost  him  a  portion  of  his 
stock  to  express  his  joy.  The  little  seaside  holiday  had 
made  me  look  my  prettiest,  and  when  my  brother-in-law 
saw  me  into  a  first-class  carriage  and  left  me  with  a  fra- 
ternally-legal kiss,  I  rather  pitied  him  for  having  to  go 
back  to  my  sister.  There  was  only  one  other  person  in 
the  carriage  beside  myself — a  stern  old  gentleman,  who 
sat  crumpled  up  in  the  opposite  corner  and  read  a  paper 
steadily. 

"  The  train  flew  along  the  white  frosty  landscape  at  ex- 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


293 


press  rates,  but  the  old  gentleman  never  looked  up  from 
his  paper.  The  temperature  was  chill  and  I  coughed. 
The  old  gentleman  evinced  no  symptom  of  sympathy.  I 
rolled  up  my  veil  the  better  to  see  the  curmudgeon,  and 
smiled  to  think  what  a  fool  he  was,  but  he  betrayed  no 
sign  of  sharing  my  amusement. 

"  At  last,  as  he  was  turning  his  page,  I  said  in  my  most 
dulcet  tones  :  '  Oh,  pray  excuse  my  appropriating  the  en- 
tire foot-warmer.  I  don't  know  why  there  is  only  one, 
but  I  will  share  it  with  you  with  pleasure.' 

"  '  Thank  you,'  he  said  gruffly,  '  I'm  not  cold.' 

"  '  Oh,  aren't  you  !  '  I  murmured  inwardly,  adding  aloud 
with  a  severe  wintry  tone,  '  Gentlemen  of  your  age  usually 
are.' 

" '  Yes,  but  I'm  not  a  gentleman  of  my  age,'  he  growled, 
mistaking  the  imbecile  statement  for  repartee. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  I.  '  I  was  judging  by  ap- 
pearances. Is  that  the  Saturday  Slasher  you  have  there  ? ' 

"  He  shook  himself  impatiently.     '  No,  it  is  not.' 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  I.  '  I  was  again  judging  by 
appearances.  May  I  ask  what  it  is  ? ' 

"  '  Threepenny  Bits  ! '  he  jerked  back. 

"  '  What's  that  ? '  I  asked.     '  I  know  Broken  Bits: 

" '  This  is  a  superior  edition  of  Broken  Bits  at  the  price 
indicated  by  the  title.  It  contains  the  same  matter,  but 
is  issued  at  a  price  adapted  to  the  means  of  the  moneyed 
and  intellectual  classes.  No  self-respecting  person  can 
be  seen  reading  penny  weeklies — it  throws  doubt  not  only 
on  his  income,  but  on  his  mental  calibre.  The  idea  of 
this  first-class  edition  (so  to  speak)  should  make  the  for- 
tune of  the  proprietor,  and  deservedly  so.  Of  course,  the 
thousand  pound  railway  assurance  scheme  is  likewise 
trebled,  though  this  part  of  the  paper  does  not  attract 
me  personally,  for  my  next-of-kin  is  a  hypocritical  young 
rogue.  But  imagine  the  horror  of  being  found  dead  with 


294  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl.'fi. 

a  penny  weekly  in  one's  pocket !  You  can't  even  explain 
it  away.' 

"  He  had  hardly  finished  the  sentence  before  a  terrible 
shock,  as  of  a  ton  of  dynamite  exploding  under  the  foot- 
warmer,  lifted  me  into  the  air  ;  the  carriage  collapsed  like 
matchwood,  and  I  had  the  feeling  of  being  thrown  into 
the  next  world.  For  a  moment  I  recovered  a  gleam  of 
consciousness,  just  enough  to  show  me  I  was  lying  dying 
amid  the  debris,  and  that  my  companion  lay,  already  dead, 
in  a  fragment  of  the  compartment,  Threepenny  Bits  clenched 
in  his  lifeless  hand. 

"  With  a  last  fond  touch  I  smoothed  my  hair,  which 
had  got  rather  ruffled  in  the  catastrophe,  and  extracting 
with  infinite  agony  a  puff  from  my  pocket  I  dabbed  it 
spasmodically  over  my  face.  I  dared  not  consult  my 
hand-mirror,  I  was  afraid  it  would  reveal  a  distorted  coun- 
tenance and  unnecessarily  sadden  my  last  moments. 
Whatever  my  appearance,  I  had  done  my  best  for  it,  and 
I  wanted  to  die  with  the  consciousness  of  duty  fulfilled. 
Murmuring  a  prayer  that  those  who  found  my  body  would 
not  imitate  me  in  judging  by  appearances,  if  they  should 
prove  discreditable  after  all,  I  closed  my  eyes  upon  the 
world  in  which  I  had  been  so  young  and  happy.  My 
whole  life  passed  in  review  before  me,  all  my  dearly  loved 
bonnets,  my  entire  wardrobe  from  infancy  upwards.  Now 
I  was  an  innocent  child  with  a  white  sash  and  pink  rib- 
bons, straying  amid  the  sunny  meadows  and  plucking  the 
daisies  to  adorn  my  hats  ;  anon  a  merry  maiden  sporting 
amid  the  jocund  schoolboys  and  receiving  tribute  in  toffy ; 
then  again  a  sedate  virgin  in  original  gowns  and  tailor- 
made  jackets.  Suddenly  a  strange  idea  jostled  through 
the  throng  of  bitter-sweet  memories.  Threepenny 
Bits  ! 

"The  old  gentleman's  next-of-kin  would  come  in  for 
three  thousand  pounds  !  I  should  die  and  leave  nothing 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


295 


to  my  relatives  but  regrets ;  my  generous  brother  would 
be  forever  inconsolable  now,  and  my  funeral  might  be 
mean  and  unworthy.  And  yet  if  the  old  misogynist  had 
only  been  courteous  enough  to  lend  me  the  paper,  seeing 
I  had  nothing  to  read,  it  might  have  been  found  on  my 
body.  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum.  Why  reveal  his  breach 
of  etiquette  to  the  world  ?  Why  should  I  not  enable  him 


I  pulled  the  paper  from  the  dead  hand. 

to  achieve  posthumous  politeness  !  Besides,  his  heir  was 
a  hypocritical  rogue,  and  it  were  a  crime  against  society 
to  place  so  large  a  sum  at  his  disposal.  Overwhelmed  as 
I  was  by  the  agonies  of  death,  I  steeled  myself  to  this  last 
duty.  I  wriggled  painfully  towards  the  corpse,  and  stretch- 
ing out  my  neatly-gloved  fingers,  with  a  last  mighty  effort 
I  pulled  the  paper  cautiously  from  the  dead  hand  which 


296  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

lay  heavy  upon  it.  Then  I  clasped  it  passionately  to  my 
heart  and  died." 

"  Died  ?  "  echoed  Lillie  excitedly. 

"  Well — lost  consciousness.  You  are  particular  to  a 
shade.  Myself  I  see  no  difference  between  a  fainting 
fit  and  death  except  that  one  attack  of  the  latter  is 
fatal." 

"  As  to  that,"  answered  Lillie.  "  I  consider  we  die 
every  night  and  dream  we  are  alive.  To  fall  asleep  is  to 
die  painlessly.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  pity  we  are  resurrected 
to  tea  and  toast  and  toilette.  However,  I  am  glad  you 
did  not  really  die.  I  feared  I  was  in  for  a  tale  of  re-in- 
carnation or  spooks  or  hypnotism  or  telepathy  or  astral 
bodies.  One  hears  so  many  marvellous  stories,  now  that 
we  have  left  off  believing  in  miracles.  Really,  man's 
credulity  is  the  perpetual  miracle." 

"  I  have  not  left  off  believing  in  miracles,"  replied  Miss 
Linbridge  seriously.  "  How  could  I  ?  Was  I  not  saved 
by  one  ?  A  very  gallant  miracle,  too,  for  it  took  no 
trouble  to  save  my  crusty  old  fellow-traveller,  while  it  left 
me  without  a  scratch.  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have 
been  grateful  for  salvation  without  good  looks.  To  face 
life  without  a  pretty  face  were  worse  than  death.  You 
agree  with  me  ? " 

"  Not  entirely.  There  are  higher  things  in  life  than 
beautiful  faces,"  said  Lillie  gravely. 

"  Certainly.  Beautiful  bonnets,"  said  the  candidate 
with  laughing  levity.  "  And  lower  things — beautiful 
boots.  But  you  would  not  seriously  argue  that  there  is 
anything  else  so  indispensable  to  a  woman  as  beauty,  or 
that  to  live  plain  is  worth  the  trouble  of  living  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Plain  living  and  high  thinking  !  "  mur- 
mured Lillie. 

"  All  nonsense  !  We  needn't  pretend — we  aren't  with 
men.  You  would  talk  differently  if  you  were  born  ugly  ! 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  297 

Goodness  gracious,  don't  we  know  that  a  girl  may  have  a 
whole  cemetery  of  virtues  and  no  man  will  look  at  her  if 
she  is  devoid  of  charms  of  face  or  purse.  It's  all  nonsense- 
what  Ruskin  says  about  a  well-bred  modest  girl  being 
necessarily  beautiful.  It  is  only  a  pleasing  fiction  that  mor- 
ality is  invaluable  to  the  complexion.  Of  course  if  Rus- 
kin's  girl  chose  to  dress  with  care,  she  could  express  her 
goodness  less  plainly ;  but  as  a  rule  goodness  and  dowdi- 
ness  are  synonymous.  I  think  the  function  of  a  woman 
is  to  look  well,  and  our  severest  reprobation  should  be 
extended  to  those  conscienceless  creatures  who  allow 
themselves  to  be  seen  in  the  company  of  gentlemen  in 
frumpish  attire.  It  is  a  breach  of  etiquette  towards  the 
other  sex.  A  woman  must  do  credit  to  the  man  who 
stakes  his  reputation  for  good  taste  by  being  seen  in  her 
society.  She  must  achieve  beauty  for  his  sake,  and 
should  no  more  leave  her  boudoir  without  it  than  if  she 
were  an  actress  leaving  her  dressing-room." 

"  That  the  man  expects  the  woman  to  make  his  friends 

•envy   him   is   true,"  answered  Lillie,  "  and  I  have  myself 

expressed  this  in  yonder  epigram,  //  is  man  who  is  vain 

of  woman's  dress.     But  were  we  created  merely  to  gratify 

man's  vanity  ? " 

"  Is  not  that  a  place  in  nature  to  be  vain  of  ?  We  are 
certainly  not  proud  of  him.  Think  of  the  average  hus- 
band over  whom  the  woman  has  to  shed  the  halo  of  her 
beauty.  It  is  like  poetry  and  prose  bound  together.  It 
is  because  I  intend  to  be  permanently  beautiful  that  I 
have  come  to  cast  in  my  lot  with  the  Old  Maids'  Club. 
Your  rules  ordain  it  so — and  rightly." 

"  The  Club  must  be  beautiful,  certainly,  but  merely  to 
escape  being  twitted  with  ugliness  by  the  shallow ;  for  the 
rest,  it  should  disdain  beauty.  However,  pray  continue 
your  story.  It  left  off  at  a  most  interesting  point.  You 
lost  consciousness  !  " 


298  TJJE  OLD  J/.///AV  CLUB. 

"  Yes,  but  as  my  chivalrous  miracle  had  saved  me  from 
damage,  I  was  found  unconsciously  beautiful  (which  I 
have  always  heard  is  the  most  graceful  way  of  wearing 
your  beauty).  I  soon  came  to  myself  with  the  aid  of  a 
dark-eyed  doctor,  and  I  then  learnt  that  the  old  gentle- 
man had  been  too  weak  to  sustain  the  shock  and  that  his 
poor  old  pulse  had  ceased  to  beat.  My  rescuers  had  not 
disturbed  Threepenny  Bits  from  its  position  'twixt  my 
hand  and  heart  in  case  I  should  die  and  need  it ;  so  when 
the  line  was  cleared  and  I  was  sent  on  to  London  after  a 
pleasant  lunch  with  the  dark-eyed  doctor,  I  had  the  journal 
to  read  after  all,  despite  the  discourtesy  of  the  deceased. 
When  I  arrived  at  Paddington  I  found  Richard  \Vest- 
bourne  walking  the  platform  like  Hamlet's  ghost,  white 
and  trembling.  He  was  scanning  the  carriages  fever- 
ishly, as  the  train  glided  in  with  its  habitual  noncha- 
lance. 

"  '  My  darling  ! '  he  cried  when  he  caught  sight  of  my 
dainty  hat  with  its  sweet  trimmings.  '  Thank  Heaven  !  ' 
He  twisted  the  door  violently  open  and  kissed  me  before 
the  crowd.  Fortunately  I  had  my  lovely  spotted  veil 
all  down,  so  he  only  pressed  the  tulle  to  my  lips. 

"  '  What  is  the  matter  ? '  I  said  ingenuously. 

" '  The  accident ! '  he  gasped.  Weren't  you  in  the 
accident  ? ' 

" '  Of  course  I  was.  But  I  was  not  very  much  crum- 
pled. If  I  had  sat  in  the  other  corner  I  should  have 
been  killed  !  " 

" '  My  heroine  ! '  he  cried.  '  How  brave  of  you  ! '  He 
made  as  if  he  would  rumple  my  hair  but  I  drew  back. 

"  '  Were  you  waiting  for  me  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  Of  course.  Hours  and  hours.  O  the  agony  of  it ! 
See,  here  is  the  evening  paper !  It  gives  you  as  dead.' 

"  'Where  ? '  I  cried,  nervously.  His  trembling  forefinger 
pointed  to  the  place.  '  A  beautiful  young  lady  was  also 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  299 

extricated  in  an  unconscious  condition  from  this  car- 
riage.' 

" '  Isn't  it  wonderful  the  news  should  be  in  London 
before  me  ? '  I  murmured.  '  But  I  suppose  they  will  have 
names  and  fuller  particulars  in  a  later  edition.' 

"  '  Of  course.  But  fancy  my  having  to  be  in  London, 
unable  to  get  to  you  for  love  or  money ! ' 

"  '  Yes,  it  was  very  hard  for  me  to  be  there  all  alone,' 
I  murmured.  '  But  please  run  and  see  after  my  luggage, 
there  are  three  portmanteaus  and  a  little  black  one,  and 
three  bonnet  boxes,  and  two  parasols,  and  call  a  han- 
som, oh — and  a  brown  paper  parcel,  and  a  long  narrow 
cardboard  box — and  get  me  the  latest  editions  of  the 
evening  papers — and  please  see  that  the  driver  isn't 
drunk,  and  don't  take  a  knock-kneed  horse  or  one  that 
paws  the  ground,  you  know  those  hansom  doors  fly  open 
and  shoot  you  out  like  rubbish — I  do  so  hate  them — and 
oh  !  Richard,  don't  forget  those  novels  from  Mudie's, — 
they're  done  up  with  a  strap.  Three  bonnet  boxes, 
remember,  and  all  the  evening  papers,  mind.' 

"  When  we  were  bowling  homewards  he  kept  expressing 
his  joy  by  word  and  deed,  so  that  I  was  unable  to  read 
my  papers.  At  last,  annoyed,  I  said  :  '  You  wouldn't  be 
so  glad  if  you  knew  that  my  resurrection  cost  three  thou- 
sand pounds.' 

"  '  How  do  you  mean  ? ' 

"  '  Why,  if  I  had  died,  somebody  would  have  had  three 
thousand  pounds.  This  number  of  Threepenny  Bits 
would  have  been  found  on  my  body,  and  would  have 
entitled  my  heir  to  that  amount  of  assurance  money.  I 
need  not  tell  you  who  my  heir  is,  nor  to  whom  I  had  left 
my  little  all." 

"  I  looked  into  his  face  and  from  the  tenderness  that 
overflowed  it  I  saw  he  fancied  himself  the  favored 
mortal.  There  is  no  end  to  the  conceit  of  young  men. 


300  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

A  sensible  fellow  would  have  known  at  once  that  my 
brother  was  the  only  person  reasonably  entitled  to  my 
scanty  belongings.  However,  there  is  no  good  done  by 
disturbing  a  lover's  complacency. 

" '  I  do  not  want  your  money,'  he  answered,  again 
passionately  pressing  my  tulle  veil  to  my  lips.  '  I  in- 
finitely prefer  your  life.' 

"  '  What  a  bloodthirsty  highwayman  !  ' 

"  '  I  shall  steal  another  kiss.  I  would  rather  have  you 
than  all  the  gold  in  the  world.' 

"  '  Still,  gold  is  the  next  best  thing,'  I  said,  smiling  at 
his  affectionateness  which  my  absence  had  evidently 
fostered.  '  So  being  on  the  point  of  death,  as  I  thought, 
I  resolved  to  make  death  worth  dying,  and  leave  a  heap 
of  gold  to  the  man  I  loved.  This  number  of  Threepenny 
Bits  was  not  mine  originally.  When  the  crash  occurred 
it  was  being  read  by  the  old  gentleman  in  the  opposite 
corner  but  his  next  of  kin  is  a  hypocritical  young  scape- 
grace (so  he  told  me)  and  I  thought  it  would  be  far 
nicer  for  my  heir  to  come  in  for  the  money.  So  I  took  it 
from  his  body  the  very  instant  before  I  fainted  dead 
away ! ' 

"  '  My  heroine  ! '  he  cried  again.  '  So  you  thought  of 
your  Richard  even  at  the  point  of  death.  What  a  sweet 
assurance  of  your  love  ! ' 

"  '  Yes,  an  assurance  of  three  thousand  pounds,'  I  an- 
swered, laughing  merrily.  '  And  now,  perhaps,  you  will 
let  me  read  the  details  of  the  catastrophe.  The  reporters 
seem  to  know  ever  so  much  more  about  it  than  I  do.  It's 
getting  dusk  and  I  can  hardly  see — I  wonder  what  was 
the  name  of  old  grizzly-growler — ah  !  here  it  is — "  The 
pocket-book  contained  letters  addressed  to  Josiah  Twad- 
don,  Esquire,  and — 

"  '  Twaddon,  did  you  say  ? '  gasped  Richard,  clutching 
the  paper  frantically. 


THE  OLD  MASDS'  CLUB.  301 

"  '  Yes — don't !  You've  torn  it.  Twaddon,  I  can  see  it 
plainly.' 

"  '  Does  it  give  his  address  ? '     Richard  panted. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said,  surprised.  I  was  just  gomg  on  to  read 
that,  '  4,  Bucklesbury  Buildings — 

"  '  Great  heavens  ! '  he  cried. 

" '  What  is  it  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale  and  agitated  ?  Was 
he  anything  to  you.  Ah,  I  guess  it — by  my  prophetic 
soul,  your  uncle  ! ' 

" '  Yes,'  he  answered  bitterly.  '  My  uncle !  My 
mother's  brother !  Wrretched  woman,  what  have  you 
done  ? ' 

"  My  heart  was  beating  painfully  and  I  felt  hot  all  over, 
but  outwardly  I  froze. 

" '  You  know  what  I  have  done,'  I  replied  icily. 

" '  Yes,  robbed  me  of  three  thousand  pounds  ! '  he  cried. 

"  '  How  dare  you  say  that  ? '  I  answered  indignantly. 
'  Why,  it  was  for  you  I  meant  them.' 

"  The  statement  was  not,  perhaps,  strictly  accurate,  but 
my  indignation  was  sufficiently  righteous  to  cover  a  whole 
pack  of  lies. 

"  '  Your  intentions  may  have  been  strictly  honorable,' 
he  retorted,  '  but  your  behavior  was  abominable.  Great 
heavens  !  Do  you  know  that  you  could  be  prosecuted  ? ' 

"  '  Nonsense  ! '  I  said  stoutly,  though  my  heart  misgave 
me.  '  What  for  ? ' 

" '  What  for  ?  You,  a  plunderer  of  the  dead,  a  harpy, 
a  ghoul,  ask  what  for  ? ' 

"  '  But  the  thing  was  of  no  value  !  '     I  urged. 

" '  Of  no  intrinsic  value,  perhaps,  but  of  immense  value 
under  the  peculiar  circumstances.  Why,  if  anyone  chose 
to  initiate  a  prosecution,  you  would  be  sent  to  jail  as  a 
common  thief." 

" '  Pardon  me,'  I  said  haughtily.  '  You  forget  you  are 
speaking  to  a  lady.  As  such,  I  can  never  be  more  than  a 


302 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


lean  never  be  more  than  a  kleptomaniac. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  303 

kleptomaniac.  You  might  make  me  suffer  from  hysteria 
yesterday,  but  the  worst  that  could  befall  me  now  would 
be  a  most  interesting  advertisement.  Prosecute  me  and 
you  will  create  for  me  an  army  of  friends  all  over  the 
world.  If  it  is  thus  that  lovers  behave,  it  is  better  to  have 
friends.  I  shall  be  glad  of  the  exchange.' 

"  '  You  know  I  could  not  prosecute  you,'  he  answered 
more  gently. 

"  '  After  your  language  to  me  you  are  capable  of  any- 
thing. Your  uncle  called  you  a  rogue  with  his  dying 
breath,  and  statements  made  with  that  are  generally  vera- 
cious. Prosecute  me  if  you  will — I  have  done  you  out  of 
three  thousand  pounds  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  Only  one 
favor  I  will  ask  of  you — for  the  sake  of  our  old  relations, 
give  me  fair  warning  ! ' 

"  '  That  you  may  flee  the  country  ? ' 

"  '  No,  that  I  may  get  a  new  collection  of  photo- 
graphs.' 

"  '  You  will  submit  to  being  taken  by  the  police  ? ' 

"  '  Yes — after  I  have  been  taken  by  the  photographer.' 

"  '  But  look  at  the  position  you  will  be  in  ? ' 

" '  I  shall  be  in  six  different  positions — one  for  each  of 
the  chief  illustrated  papers.' 

"  '  Your  flippancy  is  ill-timed,  Margaret,'  said  Richard . 
sternly. 

" '  Flippant,  good  heavens !  Do  you  know  me  so  little 
as  to  consider  me  capable  of  flippancy?  Richard,  this 
is  the  last  straw.  You  have  called  me  a  thief,  you  have 
threatened  to  place  me  in  the  felon's  dock,  and  I  have 
answered  you  with  soft  words,  but  no  man  sjiall  call  me 
flippant  and  continue  to  be  engaged  to  me  !  ' 

"' But,  Maggie,  darling!'  His  tone  was  changing. 
He  saw  he  had  gone  too  far.  '  Consider  !  It  is  not  only 
I  that  am  the  loser  by  your — indiscretion,  your  generous 
indiscretion ' 


304  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  '  My  indiscreet  generosity,'  I  corrected. 

"  He  accepted  my  '  indiscreet  generosity  '  and  went  on. 
'  Cannot  you  see  that,  as  my  future  wife,  you  will  also 
suffer  ? ' 

"  '  But  surely  you  will  come  in  for  something  under  your 
uncle's  will  all  the  same,'  I  reminded  him. 

"  '  Not  a  stiver.  He  never  made  a  will,  he  never  saved 
any  money.  He  was  the  most  selfish  brute  that  ever 
breathed.  All  the  money  he  couldn't  spend  on  himself 
he  gave  away  in  charity  so  as  to  get  the  kudos  during  his 
lifetime,  pretending  that  there  was  no  merit  in  post-mor- 
tem philanthropy.  And  now  all  the  good  he  might  have 
done  by  his  death  you  have  cancelled.' 

"  I  sat  mute,  my  complexion  altered  for  the  worse  by 
pangs  of  compunction. 

"  '  But  I  can  make  amends,'  I  murmured  at  last. 

"  '  How  ? '  he  asked  eagerly. 

" '  I  can  tell  the  truth — at  least  partially.  I  can  make 
an  affidavit  that  Threepenny  Bits  belonged  to  my  fellow- 
passenger,  that  he  lent  it  me  just  before  the  accident,  or 
that,  seeing  he  was  dead,  I  took  it  to  hand  over  to  his 
relatives.' 

"  For  a  moment  his  face  brightened  up,  then  it  grew  dark 
as  suddenly  as  if  it  had  been  lit  by  electricity.  '  They 
will  not  believe  you,'  he  said.  '  Even  if  you  were  a 
stranger,  the  paper  would  contest  my  claim.  But  con- 
sidering your  relation  to  me,  considering  that  the  money 
would  fall  to  you  as  much  as  to  me,  no  common-sense  jury 
would  credit  your  evidence.' 

"  '  Well,  then,  we  must  break  off  our  engagement.' 

"  '  What  would  be  the  good  of  that  ?  They  would  fer- 
ret out  our  past  relations,  would  suspect  their  resumption 
immediately  after  the  verdict.' 

" '  Well,  then,  we  must  break  off  our  engagement,'  I 
repeated  decisively.  '  I  could  never  marry  a  prosecutor 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  305 

in  posse — a  man  in  whose  heart  was  smouldering  a  petty 
sense  of  pecuniary  injury.' 

"  '  If  you  married  me,  I  should  cease  to  be  a  prosecutor  in 
posse,'  he  said  soothingly.  '  As  the  law  stands,  a  husband 
cannot  give  evidence  against  his  wife  in  criminal  cases.' 

" '  Oh,  well,  then  you'd  become  a  persecutor  in  esse,'  I 
retorted.  '  You'd  always  have  something  to  throw  in 
my  teeth,  and  for  my  part  I  could  never  forgive  you  the 
wrong  I  have  done  you.  We  could  not  possibly  live  to- 
gether.' 

"  My  demeanor  was  so  chilling,  my  tone  so  resolute 
that  Richard  was  panic-stricken.  He  vowed,  protested, 
stormed,  entreated,  but  nothing  could  move  me. 

"  '  A  kindly  accident  has  shown  me  your  soul,'  I  an- 
swered, '  and  the  sight  is  not  encouraging.  Fortunately  I 
have  seen  it  in  time.  You  remember  when  you  took  me 
to  see  The  Doll's  House,  you  said  that  Norah  was  quite 
right  in  all  she  did.  I  daresay  it  was  because  the  actress 
was  so  charming — but  let  that  pass.  And  yet  what  are 
you  but  another  Hehner  ?  Just  see  how  exact  is  the  par- 
allel between  our  story  and  Ibsen's.  Norah  in  all  in- 
nocence forged  her  husband's  name  in  order  to  get  the 
money  to  restore  him  to  health.  I,  in  all  innocence,  steal 
a  threepenny  paper,  in  order  to  leave  you  three  thousand 
pounds  by  my  death.  When  things  turn  out  wrong,  you 
turn  round  on  me  just  as  Helmer  turned  round  on  Norah 
— forgetting  for  whose  sake  the  deed  was  done.  If  Norah 
was  justified  in  leaving  her  husband,  how  much  more 
justified  must  I  be  in  leaving  my  betrothed ! ' 

"  The  cases  are  not  quite  on  all  fours,"  interrupted  the 
President  who  had  pricked  up  her  ears  at  the  mention  of 
the  "  Woman's  Poet."  "  You  must  not  forget  that  you  did 
not  really  sin  for  his  sake  but  for  your  brother's." 

"  That  is  an  irrelevant  detail,"  replied  the  beautiful 
ghoul.  "  He  thought  I  did — which  comes  to  the  same 


306  THE  OLD  MAIDS'1  CLUB. 

thing.  Besides,  my  telling  him  I  did  only  increases  the 
resemblance  between  me  and  Norah.  She  was  an  awful 
fibber,  if  you  remember.  Richard,  of  course,  disclaimed 
the  likeness  to  Helmer,  though  in  doing  so  he  was  more 
like  him  than  ever.  But  I  would  give  him  no  word  of 
hope.  'We  could  never  be  happy  together,'  I  said. 
'  Our  union  would  never  be  real.  There  would  always 
be  the  three  thousand  pounds  between  us.' 

"  '  Well,  that  would  be  fifteen  hundred  each,'  he  answered 
with  ghastly  jocularity. 

" '  This  ill-timed  flippancy  ends  all,'  I  said  solemnly. 
'  Henceforth,  Mr.  Westbourne,  we  must  be  strangers.' 

"  He  sat  like  one  turned  to  stone.  Not  till  the  cab  arrived 
at  my  brother's  house  did  he  speak  again. 

"  Then  he  said  in  low  tones  :  '  Maggie,  can  I  never 
become  anything  to  you  but  a  stranger  ? ' 

"  'The  greatest  miracle  of  all  would  have  to  happen  then, 
Richard,'  I  quoted  coldly.  Then,  rejecting  his  proffered 
assistance,  I  alighted  from  the  vehicle,  passed  majestically 
across  the  threshold  and  mounted  the  stairs  with  stately 
step,  not  a  sign,  not  the  slightest  tremor  of  a  muscle  be- 
traying what  I  felt.  Only  when  I  was  safe  in  my  own  little 
room,  with  its  lavender-scented  sheets  and  its  thousand 
childish  associations  did  my  pent-up  emotions  overpower 
me.  I  threw  myself  upon  my  little  white  bed  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  laughter.  I  had  come  out  of  a  disagreeable  situ- 
ation agreeably,  leaving  Dick  in  the  wrong,  and  I  felt  sure 
I  could  whistle  him  back  as  easily  as  the  hansom." 

"  And  what  became  of  Richard  ?  "  asked  Lillie. 

"  I  left  him  to  settle  with  the  cabman.  I  have  never 
seen  him  since." 

Lillie  gave  a  little  shudder.  "  You  speak  as  if  the  cab- 
man had  settled  with  him.  But  are  you  sure  you  are  will- 
ing to  renounce  all  mankind  because  you  find  one  man 
unsatisfactory  ? " 


THE  OLD  M. -///AS"   r/.r/V.  307 

'•  All.  I  was  very  young  when  I  got  engaged.  I  did 
not  want  to  be  a  burden  on  my  brother.  But  now  his  fire- 
work factory  is  a  brilliant  success.  He  lives  in  a  golden 
rain.  Having  only  myself  to  please  now,  I  don't  see  why 
I  should,  have  to  please  a  husband.  The  more  I  think  of 
marriage  the  less  I  think  of  it.  I  have  not  kept  my  eyes 
open  for  nothing.  I  am  sure  it  wouldn't  suit  me.  Hus- 
bands are  anything  but  the  creatures  a  young  girl's  roman- 
tic fancy  pictures.  They  have  a  way  of  disarranging  the 
most  careful  toilettes.  They  ruffle  your  hair  and  your 
temper.  They  disorder  the  furniture — and  put  their  feet 
on  the  mantelpiece.  They  scratch  the  fenders,  read  books 
and  stretch  themselves  on  the  most  valuable  sofas.  If  they 
help  in  the  household  they  only  make  more  work.  The 
trail  of  tobacco  is  over  all  you  prize.  All  day  long  the 
smoke  gets  into  your  eyes.  Filthy  pipes  clog  your  cabinets, 
your  window-curtains  reek  of  stale  cigars.  You  have 
bartered  your  liberty  for  a  mess  of  cigar-ash.  There  is  an 
odor  of  bar  saloons  about  the  house  and  boon  companions 
come  to  welter  in  whiskey  and  water.  Their  talk  is  of 
science  and  art  and  politics  and  it  makes  them  guffaw 
noisily  and  dig  one  another  in  the  ribs.  There  is  not  a 
man  in  the  world  to  whom  I  would  trust  my  sensitive 
fragility — they  are  all  coarse,  clumsy  creatures  with  a  code 
of  morals  that  they  don't  profess  and  a  creed  of  chivalry 
that  they  never  practise.  Falsehood  abides  permanently 
in  their  mouth  like  artificial  teeth  and  corruption  lurks 
beneath  the  whited  sepulchres  of  their  shirt-fronts.  They 
adore  us  in  secret  and  deride  us  when  they  are  together. 
They  feign  a  contempt  for  us  which  we  feel  for  them." 
These  sentiments  re-instated  Miss  Linbridge  in  the  good 
opinion  of  the  President,  conscious  heretofore  of  a  jarring 
chord.  She  ordered  in  some  refreshments  to  get  an  op- 
portunity of  whispering  to  Turple  the  magnificent  that  the 
Honorary  Trier  might  return. 


308  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Miss  Linbridge,  "  I  hunted  out 
that  copy  of  Threepenny  Bits  before  coming  out.  I've 
kept  it  in  a  drawer  as  a  curiosity.  Here  it  is  ! " 

Lillie  took  the  paper  and  examined  it  anxiously. 

"What's  that?  You  reading  Threepenny  Bits?"  said 
Silverdale  coming  in. 

"  It  is  only  an  old  number,"  said  Lillie,  "  whereby  hangs 
a  tale.  Miss  Linbridge  was  in  a  railway  accident  with  it." 

"Miss  Linbridge,  Lord  Silverdale." 

The  Honorary  Trier  bowed. 

"  Oh  what  a  pity  it  was  an  old  number,"  he  said.  "  Miss 
Linbridge  might  have  had  a  claim  for  damages." 

"  How  very  ungallant,"  said  Lillie.  "  Miss  Linbridge 
could  have  had  no  claim  unless  she  had  been  killed." 

"  Besides,"  added  Miss  Linbridge  laughing  at  Lillie's 
bull,  "  it  wasn't  an  old  number  then.  The  accident 
happened  on  New  Year's  Day." 

"  Even  then  it  would  have  been  too  old,"  answered 
Silverdale,  "  for  it  is  dated  December  2d  and  the  assurance 
policy  is  only  valid  during  the  week  of  issue.'' 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  gasped  Miss  Linbridge.  Her  face 
was  passing  through  a  variety  of  shades. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lillie.  "  Here  is  the  condition  in  print. 
You  don't  seem  to  have  noticed  it  was  a  back  number. 
But  of  course  I  don't  wonder  at  that — there's  no  topical 
interest  whatever,  one  week's  very  much  like  another. 
And  see  !  Here  is  even  '  Specimen  Copy '  marked  on 
the  outside  sheet.  Richard's  uncle  must  have  had  it  given 
to  him  in  the  street." 

"  The  miracle  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Linbridge  in  exultant 
tones,  and  repossessing  herself  of  the  paper  she  darted 
from  the  Club. 


THE  OLD  MA  JDS'  CLU2J. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  LA  FEMME  INCOMPRISE. 

LORD  SILVERDALE  had  gone  and  there  was  now  no  need 
for  Lillie  to  preserve  the  factitious  cheerfulness  with  which 
she  had  listened  to  his  usual  poem,  while  her  thoughts  were 
full  of  other  and  even  more  depressing  things.  Margaret 
Linbridge's  miracle  had  almost  undermined  the  Presi- 
dent's faith  in  the  steadfastness  of  her  sex ;  she  turned 
mentally  to  the  yet  unaccepted  Wee  Winnie  for  consola- 
tion, condemning  her  own  half-hearted  attitude  towards 
that  sturdy  soul,  and  almost  persuading  herself  that  salva- 
tion lay  in  spats.  At  any  rate  long  skirts  seemed  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  to  find  true  women  in. 

But  providence  had  not  exhausted  its  miracles,  and  Lillie 
was  not  to  spend  a  miserable  afternoon.  The  miracle 
was  speeding  along  towards  her  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus 
— a  miracle  of  beauty  and  smartness.  On  reaching  the 
vicinity  of  the  Old  Maid's  Club,  the  miracle,  which  was 
of  course  of  the  female  gender,  tapped  the  driver  amicably 
upon  the  hat  with  her  parasol  and  said  "  Stop  please."  The 
petite  creature  was  the  spirit  of  self-help  itself  and  scorned 
the  aid  of  the  gentleman  in  front  of  her,  preferring  to 
knock  off  his  hat  and  crush  the  driver's  so  long  as  the  in- 
dependence of  womanhood  was  maintained.  But  she 
maintained  it  charmingly  and  without  malice  and  gave 
the  conductor  a  sweet  smile  in  addition  to  his  fare  as  she 
tripped  away  to  the  Old  Maids'  Club. 


3io 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCB. 


Amicably  said,  "Stop please" 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLl'H.  311 

Lillie  was  fascinated  the  instant  Turple  the  magnificent 
announced  "  Miss  Wilkins  "  in  suave  tones.  The  mere 
advent  of  a  candidate  raised  her  spirits  and  she  found 
herself  chatting  freely  with  her  visitor  even  before  she 
had  put  her  through  the  catechism.  But  the  catechism 
came  at  last. 

"  Why  do  I  want  to  join  you  ?  "  asked  the  miracle. 
"  Because  I  am  disgusted  with  my  lover — because  I  am 
"&.femme  incomprise.  Oh,  don't  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  a 
medley  of  megrims  and  fashionable  ailments,  I'm  the  very 
opposite  of  that.  Mine  is  a  buoyant,  breezy,  healthy 
nature,  straightforward  and  simple.  That's  why  I  complain 
of  being  misunderstood.  My  lover  is  a  poet — and  the 
misunderstanding  I  have  to  endure  at  his  hands  is  some- 
thing appalling.  Every  man  is  a  bit  of  a  poet  where  woman 
is  concerned,  and  so  every  woman  is  more  or  less  mis- 
understood, but  when  you  are  unfortunate  enough  to  excite 
the  affection  of  a  real  whole  poet — well,  that  way  madness 
lies.  Your  words  are  twisted  into  meanings  you  never 
intended,  your  motives  are  misconstrued,  and  your  simplest 
actions  are  distorted.  Silverplume,  for  it  is  the  well- 
known  author  of  '  Poems  of  Compassion  '  that  I  have  had 
the  misfortune  to  captivate,  never  calls  without  laying  a 
sonnet  next  day;  in  which  remarks,  that  must  be  most  mis- 
leading to  those  who  do  not  know  me,  occur  with  painful 
frequency.  His  allowance  is  two  kisses  per  day — one  of 
salutation,  one  of  farewell.  We  have  only  been  actually 
engaged  two  months,  yet  I  have  counted  up  two  hundred 
and  thirty-nine  distinct  and  separate  kisses  in  the  vol- 
uminous '  Sonnet  Series  '  which  he  has  devoted  to  our  en- 
gagement, and,  what  is  worse,  he  describes  himself  as 
depositing  them. 

"  '  Where  at  thy  flower-mouth  exiguous 
The  purple  passion  mantles  to  the  brim.' 


3I2 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


It  sounds  as  if  I  was  berouged  like  a  dowager.  Purple 
passion,  indeed  !  I  let  him  kiss  me  because  he  appears 
to  like  it  and  because  there  seems  something  wrong  about 
it — but  as  for  really  caring  a  pin  one  way  or  another, 
well,  you  Miss  Dulcimer,  know  how  much  there  is  in 
that !  This  '  Sonnet  Series  '  promises  to  be  endless,  the' 
course  of  our  acquaintanceship  is  depicted  in  its  most 
minute  phases  with  the  most  elaborate  inaccuracy — if  I 
smile,  if  I  say :  '  How  do  you  do  ? '  if  I  put  my  hand  to 
my  forehead,  if  I  look  into  the  fire,  down  go  fourteen  lines 
giving  a  whole  world  of  significance  to  my  meanest  actions, 
and  making  Himalayas  out  of  the  most  microscopic  mole- 
hills. I  am  credited  with  thoughts  I  never  dreamed  of 
and  sentiments  I  never  felt,  till  I  ask  myself  whether  any 
other  woman  was  ever  so  cruelly  misunderstood  as  I  ?  I 
grow  afraid  to  do  or  say  anything,  lest  I  bring  upon  my 
head  a  new  sonnet.  But  even  so  I  cannot  help  looking 
something  or  the  other ;  and  when  I  come  to  read  the 
sonnet  I  find  it  is  always  the  other.  Once  I  refused  to 
see  him  for  a  whole  week,  but  that  only  resulted  in  seven 
'  Sonnets  of  Absence,'  imaginatively  depicting  what  I 
was  saying  and  doing  each  day,  and  containing  a  detailed 
analysis  of  his  own  sensations,  as  well  as  reminiscences 
of  past  happy  hours  together.  Most  of  them  I  had  no 
recollection  of,  and  the  only  one  I  could  at  all  share  was 
that  of  a  morning  we  spent  on  the  Ramsgate  cliffs  where 
Silverplume  put  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  and  fell 
asleep.  In  the  last  line  of  the  sonnet  it  came  out : 

"  '  There  mid  the  poppies  of  the  planisphere, 
I  swooned  for  very  joy  and  wearihead.' 

But  I  knew  it  by  the  poppies.  Then,  dear  Miss  Dulci- 
mer, you  should  just  see  the  things  he  calls  me —  '  Love's 
gonfalon  and  lodestar  '  and  what-not.  Very  often  I  can't 
even  find  them  in  the  dictionary  and  it  makes  me  uneasy. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


313 


Heaven  knows  what  he  may  be  saying  about  me  !  When 
he  talks  of 

"  '  The  rack  of  unevasive  lunar  things ' 

I  do  not  so  much  complain,  because  it's  their  concern  if 
they  are  libelled.  It  is  different  with  incomprehensible 
remarks  flung  unmistakably  at  my  own  head  such  as 

" '  O  chariest  of  Caryatides.' 

It  sounds  like  a  reproach  and  I  should  like  to  know  what 
I  have  done  to  deserve  it.  And  then  his  general  remarks 
are  so  monotonously  unintelligible.  One  of  his  longest 
poetical  epistles,  which  is  burnt  into  my  memory  because 
I  had  to  pay  twopence  for  extra  postage,  began  with  this 
lament : 

" '  O  sweet  are  roses  in  the  summer  time 
And  Indian  naiads'  weary  walruses 
And  yet  two-morrow  never  comes  to-day.' 

I  cannot  see  any  way  out  of  it  all  except  by  breaking  off 
our  engagement.  When  we  were  first  engaged,  I  don't 
deny  I  rather  liked  being  written  about  in  lovely-sounding 
lines  but  it  is  a  sweet  one  is  soon  surfeited  with,  and  Sil- 
verplume  has  raved  about  me  to  that  extent  that  he  has 
made  me  look  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  all  my  friends.  If 
he  had  been  moderate,  they  would  have  been  envious ; 
now  they  laugh  when  they  read  of  my  wonderful  charms, 
of  my  lithe  snake's  mouth,  and  my  face  which  shames  the 
sun  and  my  Epipsychidiontic  eyes  (whatever  that  may  be) 
and  my 

' '  Wee  waist  that  holds  the  cosmos  in  its  span,' 

and  say  he  is  poking  fun  at  me.  But  Silverplume  is  quite 
serious — I  am  sure  of  that,  and  it  is  the  worst  feature  of 


3I4  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

the  case.  He  carries  on  just  the  same  in  conversation, 
with  the  most  improper  allusions  to  heathen  goddesses, 
and  seems  really  to  believe  that  I  am  absorbed  in  the 
sunset  when  I  am  thinking  what  to  wear  to-morrow.  Just 
to  give  you  an  idea  of  how  he  misinterprets  my  silence  let 
me  read  to  you  one  of  his  sonnets  called  : 

"'MOONSHINE. 

"  '  Walking  a  space  betwixt  the  double  Naught, 
The  What  Is  Bound  to  Be  and  What  Has  Been, 
How  sweet  with  Thee  beneath  the  moonlit  treen, 

0  woman-soul  immaculately  wrought, 
To  sit  and  catch  a  harmony  uncaught 
Within  a  world  that  mocks  with  margarine, 
In  chastened  silence,  mystic,  epicene, 
Exchanging  incommunicable  thought. 

"  '  Diana,  Death  may  doom  and  Time  may  toss, 
And  sundry  other  kindred  things  occur, 
But  Hell  itself  can  never  turn  to  loss, 
Though  Mephistopheles  his  stumps  should  stir, 
That  day,  when  introduced  at  Charing  Cross, 

1  smiled  and  doffed  my  silken  cylinder.' 

"Another  distressing  feature  about  Silverplume — in- 
deed, I  think  about  all  men — is  their  continuous  capacity 
for  love-making.  You  know,  my  dear  Miss  Dulcimer, 
with  us  it  is  a  matter  of  times  and  seasons — we  are  creatures 
of  strange  and  subtle  susceptibilities,  sometimes  we  are 
in  the  mood  for  love  and  ready  to  respond  to  all  shades 
of  sentimentality,  but  at  other  moments  (and  these  the 
majority)  men's  amorous  advances  jar  horribly.  Men  do 
not  know  this.  Ever  ready  to  make  love  themselves  they 
think  all  moments  are  the  same  to  us  as  to  them.  And  of 
all  men,  poets  are  the  most  prepared  to  make  love  at  a 
moment's  notice.  So  that  Silverplume  himself  is  almost 
more  trying  than  his  verses." 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  315 

"  But  after  all  you  need  not  read  them,"  observed  Lillie. 
"  They  please  him  and  they  do  not  hurt  you.  And  you 
have  always  the  consolation  of  remembering  it  is  not  you 
he  loves  but  the  paragon  he  has  evolved  from  his  inner 
consciousness.  Even  taking  into  account  his  perennial 
affectionateness,  your  reason  for  refusing  him  seems 
scarcely  strong  enough." 

"  Ah,  wait  a  moment — You  have  not  heard  the  worst ! 
I  might  perhaps  have  tolerated  his  metrical  misinter- 
pretations— indeed  on  my  sending  him  a  vigorous  protest 
against  the  inaccuracies  of  his  last  collection  (they  came  out 
so  much  more  glaringly  when  brought  all  together  from  the 
various  scattered  publications  to  which  Silverplume  orig- 
inally contributed  them)  he  sent  me  back  a  semi-apologetic 
explanation  thus  conceived  : 

"'TO  CELIA.' 
"  (You  know  of  course  my  name  is  Diana,  but  that  is  his  way.) 

'' '  'Tis  not  alone  thy  sweet  eyes'  gleam 

Nor  sunny  glances, 
For  which  I  weave  so  oft  a  dream 
Of  dainty  fancies. 

"  '  'Tis  not  alone  thy  witching  play 

Of  grace  fantastic 
That  makes  me  chant  so  oft  a  lay 
Encomiastic. 

"  '  Both  editors  and  thee  I  see, 

Thy  face,  their  purses. 
I  offer  heart  and  soul  to  thee, 
To  them  my  verses.' 

"  I  was  partially  mollified  by  this,  for  if  his  poems  were 
not  merely  complimentary,  and  he  really  got  paid  for  them, 
one  might  put  up  with  inspiring  them.  We  were  recon- 


316  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

ciled  and  he  took  me  to  a  reception  at  the  house  of  a 
wealthy  friend  of  his,  a  fellow-member  of  the  Sonneteers' 
Society.  It  was  here  that  I  saw  a  sight  that  froze  my 
young  blood  and  warned  me  upon  the  edge  of  what  a 
precipice  I  was  standing.  When  we  got  into  the  drawing- 
room,  the  first  thing  we  saw  was  an  awful  apparition  in  a 
corner — a  hideous,  unkempt,  unwashed  man  in  a  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  with  his  eyes  rolling  wildly  and  his  lips 
moving  rhythmically.  It  was  the  host. 

"  '  Don't  speak  to  him,'  whispered  the  hostess.  '  He 
doesn't  see  us.  He  has  been  like  that  all  day.  He  came 
down  to  look  to  the  decorations  this  morning,  when  the 
idea  took  him  and  he  has  been  glued  to  the  spot  ever 
since.  He  has  forgotten  all  about  the  reception — he 
doesn't  know  we're  here  and  I  thought  it  best  not  to  dis- 
turb him  till  he  is  safely  delivered  of  the  sonnet.' 

" '  You  are  quite  right,'  everybody  said  in  sympathetic 
awestruck  tones  and  left  a  magic  circle  round  the  poet  in 
labor.  But  1  felt  a  shudder  run  through  my  whole  being. 
'  Goodness  gracious,  Silverplume,'  I  said,  '  is  this  the  way 
you  poets  go  on  ? ' ' 

"  '  No,  no,  Diana,'  he  assured  me.  '  It  is  all  tommyrot 
(I  quote  Silverplume's  words).  The  beggar  is  just  bring- 
ing out  a  new  volume,  and  although  his  wife  has  always 
distributed  the  most  lavish  hospitality  to  the  critics,  he 
has  never  been  able  to  get  himself  taken  seriously  as  a 
poet.  There  will  be  lots  of  critics  here  to-night  and  he  is 
playing  his  last  card.  If  he  is  not  a  genius  now,  he  never 
will  be.' 

"  '  Oh,  of  course,'  I  replied  sceptically,  'two  of  a  trade.' 
I  made  him  take  me  away  and  that  was  the  end  of  our 
engagement.  Even  as  it  was,  Silverplume's  neglect  of 
his  appearance  had  been  a  constant  thorn  in  my  side,  and 
if  this  was  so  before  marriage,  what  could  I  hope  for  after  ? 
It  was  all  very  well  for  him  to  say  his  friend  was  only 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


317 


The  poet  plays  his  last  card. 


3i8  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

shamming,  but  even  so,  how  did  I  know  he  would  not  be 
reduced  to  that  sort  of  thing  himself  when  his  popularity 
faded  and  younger  rivals  came  along." 

Lillie,  who  seemed  to  have  some  arriere-pensee,  en- 
tered into  an  animated  defence  of  the  poet,  but  Miss 
Wilkins  stood  her  ground  and  refused  to  withdraw  her 
candidature. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  withdraw  your  candidature,"  said 
Lillie,  frankly.  "  I  shall  be  charmed  to  entertain  it.  I 
am  only  arguing  upon  the  general  question." 

And,  indeed,  Lillie  was  enraptured  with  Miss  Wilkins. 
It  was  the  attraction  of  opposites.  A  matter-of-fact 
woman  who  could  reject  a  poet's  love  appealed  to  her 
with  irresistible  piquancy.  Miss  Wilkins  stayed  on  to  tea 
(by  which  time  she  had  become  Diana)  and  they  gossiped 
on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  Lillie  gave  her  the  outlines  of 
the  queerest  stories  of  past  candidates  and  in  the  Old 
Maids'  Club  that  afternoon  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage 
bell. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Lillie,"  said  Diana  at  last. 

"  Good-bye,  Diana,"  returned  Lillie.  "  Now  /  under- 
stand you  I  hope  you  won't  consider  yourself  a  fcmmc 
incompromise  any  longer." 

"  It  is  only  the  men  I  complained  of,  dear." 

"  But  we  must  ever  remain  incomprises  by  man,"  said 
Lillie.  "  Femrne  incomprise — why,  it  is  the  badge  of  all  our 
sex." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Diana.  "  A  woman  letting  down  her 
back  hair  is  tragic  to  a  man  ;  to  us  she  only  recalls  bed- 
room gossip.  Good-bye." 

And  nodding  brightly  the  brisk  little  creature  sallied 
into  the  street  and  captured  a  passing  'bus. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  319 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    INAUGURAL    SOIREE. 

"  OH,  Lord  Silverdale,"  cried  Lillie  exultantly  when  he 
made  his  usual  visit  the  next  afternoon.  "  At  last  I  have 
an  unexceptional  candidate.  We  shall  get  under  weigh 
at  last.  I  am  so  pleased  because  papa  keeps  bothering 
about  that  inaugural  soiree.  You  know  he  is  staying  in 
town  expressly  for  it.  But  what  is  the  matter  ? — You 
don't  seem  to  be  glad  at  my  news." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  grieved  at  mine,"  he  replied 
gravely.  "  Look  at  this  in  to-day's  Moon." 

Sobered  by  his  manner,  she  took  the  paper.  Then  her 
face  grew  white.  She  read,  in  large  capitals  : 

"  The  Old  Maids'  Club. 

"  Interview  with  the  President. 

"  Sensational  Stories  of  Skittish  Spinsters. 

"  Wee  Winnie  and  Lillie  Dulcimer." 

"  I  called  at  the  Old  Maids'  Club  yesterday,"  writes  a 
Moon  woman,  "  to  get  some  wrinkles,  which  ought  to  be 
abundant  in  such  a  Club,  though  they  are  not.  Miss 
Dulcimer,  the  well-known  authoress,  is  one  of  the  love- 
liest and  jolliest  girls  of  the  day.  Of  course  I  went  as  a 
candidate,  with  a  trumped-up  story  about  my  unhappy 
past,  which  Miss  Dulcimer  will,  I  am  sure,  forgive  me, 


320  THE  OLD  MAWS'  CLUB. 

in  view  of  the  fact  that  it  was  the  only  way  of  making  her 
talk  freely  for  the  benefit  of  my  readers." 

Lillie's  eye  glanced  rapidly  down  the  collection  of  dis- 
tortions. Then  she  dropped  the  Moon. 

"  This  is  outrageous,"  she  said.  "  I  can  never  forgive 
her." 

"  Why,  is  this  the  candidate  you  were  telling  me  about  ? " 
asked  Silverdale  in  deeper  concern. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  !  "  said  Lillie,  almost  weeping.  "  I 
took  to  her  so,  we  talked  ever  so  long.  Even  Wee  Winnie 
did  not  possess  the  material  for  all  these  inaccuracies." 

"  What  is  this  woman's  name  ?  " 

"  Wilkins — I  already  called  her  Diana." 

"  Diana  ?  "  cried  Silverdale.  "  Wilkins  ?  Great  heavens, 
can  it  be  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  It  must  be.  Wilkins  has  married  his  Diana.  It  was 
Mrs.  Diana  Wilkins  who  called  upon  you — not  Miss  at 
all." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?     Who  are  these  people  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  Wilkins,  the  J/<?0;/-man  that  I 
was  up  in  a  balloon  with  ?  He  was  in  a  frightful  quan- 
dary then  about  his  approaching  marriage.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  It  tortured  him  to  hear  anyone  ask  a 
question  because  he  was  always  interviewing  people  and 
he  got  to  hate  the  very  sound  of  an  interrogation. — I  told 
you  about  it  at  the  time,  don't  you  remember  ? — and  he 
knew  that  marriage  would  bring  into  his  life  a  person  who 
would  be  sure  to  ask  him  questions  after  business  hours. 
I  was  very  sorry  for  the  man  and  tried  to  think  of  a  way 
out,  but  in  vain,  and  I  even  promised  him  to  bring 
the  Old  Maids'  Club  under  the  notice  of  his  Diana.  Now 
it  seems  he  has  hit  on  the  brilliant  solution  of  making  her 
into  a  Lady  Interviewer,  so  that  her  nerves,  too,  shall  be 
hypersensitive  to  interrogatives,  and  husband  and  wife 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  321 

shall  sit  at  home  in  a  balsamic  restfulness  permeated  by 
none  but  categorical  propositions.  Ah  me !  well,  I  envy 
them  ! " 

"You  envy  them  ?  "  said  Lillie. 

"  Why  not  ?     They  are  well  matched." 

"  But  you  are  as  happy  as  Wilkins,  surely." 

"  Query.     It  takes  two  to  find  happiness." 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Lillie. 

She  had  been  already  so  upset  by  the  treachery  and  loss 
of  the  misunderstood  Diana,  that  she  felt  ready  to  break 
down  and  shed  hot  tears  over  these  heretical  sentiments 
of  Silverdale's.  He  had  been  so  good,  so  patient.  Why 
should  he  show  the  cloven  hoof  just  to-day  ? 

"  Miss  Dolly  Vane,"  announced  Turple  the  magnificent. 

A  strange  apparition  presented  itself — an  ancient  lady 
quaintly  attired.  Her  dress  fell  in  voluminous  folds — the 
curious  full  skirt  was  bordered  with  velvet,  and  there  were 
huge  lace  frills  on  the  elbow-sleeves.  Her  hair  was 
smoothed  over  her  ears  and  she  wore  a  Leghorn  hat. 
There  were  the  remains  of  beauty  on  her  withered  face 
but  her  eyes  were  wild  and  wandering.  She  curtseyed  to 
the  couple  with  old-fashioned  grace,  and  took  the  chair 
which  Lord  Silverdale  handed  her. 

Lillie  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Miss  Dulcimer  ? " 
said  the  old  lady.  Her  tones  were  cracked  and  quavering. 

"  I  am  Miss  Dulcimer,"  replied  Lillie.  "  What  can  I 
do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  have  been  reading  about  you  in  the  Moon 
to-day.  Wee  Winnie  and  Lillie  Dulcimer  !  Wee  Winnie  ! 
It  reminds  me  of  myself.  They  call  me  Little  Dolly,  you 
know."  She  simpered  in  a  ghastly  manner. 

Lillie's  face  was  growing  pale.     She  could  not  speak. 

"  Yes,  yes  of  course,"  said  Silverdale  smiling.  "  They 
call  you  Little  Dolly." 


322 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 


The  Old  Maid  arrives. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  323 

"  Little  Dolly  !  "  she  repeated  to  herself,  mumbling  and 
chuckling.  "  Little  Dolly." 

"  So  you  have  been  reading  about  Miss  Dulcimer !  " 
said  Silverdale  pleasantly.  > 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  looking  up  with  a  start. 
"  Little  Lillie  Dulcimer.  Foundress  of  the  Old  Maids' 
Club.  That's  the  thing  for  me,  I  thought  to  myself. 
That'll  punish  Philip.  That'll  punish  him  for  being  away 
so  long.  When  he  comes  home  and  finds  Little  Dolly  is 
an  old  maid,  won't  he  be  sorry,  poor  Philip  ?  But  I  can't 
help  it.  I  said  I  would  punish  him  and  I  will." 

All  the  blood  had  left  Lillie's  cheek — she  trembled  and 
caught  hold  of  Lord  Silverdale's  arm. 

"  I  shan't  have  you  now,  Philip,"  the  creaking  tones  of 
the  old  lady  continued  after  a  pause.  "  The  rules  will 
not  allow  it,  will  they,  Miss  Dulcimer  ?  It  is  not  enough 
that  I  am  young  and  beautiful,  I  must  reject  somebody — 
and  I  have  nobody  else  to  reject  but  you,  Philip.  You 
are  the  only  man  I  have  ever  loved.  Oh  my  Philip  !  My 
poor  Philip  ! 

She  began  to  wring  her  hands.  Lillie  pressed  closer  to 
Lord  Silverdale  and  her  grasp  on  his  arm  tightened. 

"  Very  well,  we  will  put  your  name  on  the  books  at 
once,"  said  the  Honorary  Trier,  in  bluff,  hearty  tones. 

Little  Dolly  looked  up  smiling.  "  Then  I'm  an  old 
maid  !  "  she  cried  ecstatically.  "  Already  !  Little  Dolly 
an  old  maid  !  Already  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

She  went  off  into  a  burst  of  uncanny  laughter.  Lord 
Silverdale  felt  Lillie  shuddering  violently.  He  disengaged 
himself  from  her  grasp  and  placed  her  on  the  sofa.  Then 
offering  his  arm  to  Miss  Dolly  Vane,  who  accepted  it  with 
a  charming  smile,  and  a  curtsey  to  Miss  Dulcimer,  he  led 
her  from  the  apartment.  When  he  returned  Lillie  was 
weeping  half-hysterically  on  the  sofa. 

"  My  darling  !  "  he  whispered.     "  Calm  yourself."     He 


324  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

laid  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  hair.  Presently  the  sobs 
ceased. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Silverdale  !  "  she  said  in  a  shaken  voice. 
"  How  good«.you  are  !  Poor  old  lady  !  Poor  old  lady  !  " 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself.  I  have  taken  care  she  shall 
get  home  safely." 

"Little  Dolly  !  how  tragic  it  was  !  "  whispered  Lillie. 

"Yes,  it  was  tragic.  Probably  it  is  not  now  so  sad  to 
her  as  it  is  to  us,  but  it  is  tragic  enough,  heaven  knows. 
Lillie," — he  trembled  as  he  addressed  her  thus  for  the 
first  time — "  I  am  not  sorry  this  has  happened.  The 
time  has  come  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  make-believe. 
This  Old  Maids'  Club  of  yours  is  a  hollow  mockery.  You 
are  playing  round  the  fringes  of  tragedy — it  is  like  warm- 
ing your  hands  at  a  house  on  fire,  wherein  wretched 
beings  are  shrieking  for  help.  You  are  young  and  rich 
and  beautiful — Heaven  pity  the  women  who  have  none 
of  these  charms.  Life  is  a  cruel  tragedy  for  many — never 
crueller  than  when  its  remorseless  laws  condemn  gentle 
loving  women  to  a  crabbed  and  solitary  old  age.  To  some 
all  the  smiles  of  fortune,  the  homage  of  all  mankind — to 
others  all  the  frowns  of  fate  and  universal  neglect,  aggra- 
vated by  contumely.  You  have  felt  this,  I  know,  and  it  is 
as  a  protest  that  you  conceived  your  club.  Still  can  it 
ever  be  a  serious  success  ?  I  love  you,  Lillie,  and  you 
have  known  it  all  along.  If  I  have  entered  into  the  joke, 
believe  me,  I  have  sometimes  taken  it  as  seriously  as  you. 
Come  !  Say  you  love  me,  too,  and  let  us  end  the  tragi- 
comedy." 

Lillie  was  obstinately  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she 
dried  her  eyes,  and  with  a  wan  little  smile  said,  in  tones 
which  she  vainly  strove  to  render  those  of  the  usual 
formula  :  "  What  poem  have  you  brought  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  To-day  I  have  brought  no  poem,  but  I  have  lived 
one,"  said  Lord  Silverdale,  taking  her  soft  unresisting 


7'HE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLCK. 


325 


hand.  "  But,  like  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere,  you  put 
strange  memories  in  my  head,  and  I  will  tell  you  some 
verses  I  made  in  the  country  in  my  callow  youth,  when 
the  world  was  new. 

"  PASTORAL. 

"  A  rich-toned  landscape,  touched  with  darkling  gold 
Of  misty,  throbbing  corn-fields,  and  with  haze 

Of  softly-tinted  hills  and  dreaming  wold, 

Lies  warm  with  raiment  of  soft  summer  rays, 

And  in  the  magic  air  there  lives  a  free 

And  subtle  feeling  of  the  distant  sea. 

"  The  perfect  day  slips  softly  to  its  end, 

The  sunset  paints  the  tender  evening  sky, 
The  shadows  shroud  the  hills  with  gray,  and  lend 

A  softened  touch  of  ancient  mystery, 
And  ere  the  silent  change  of  heaven's  light 
I  feel  the  coming  glory  of  the  night. 

"  O  for  the  sweet  and  sacred  earnest  gaze 

Of  eyes  divine  with  strange  and  yearning  tears 
To  feel  with  me  the  beauty  of  our  days, 

The  glorious  sadness  of  our  mortal  years 
The  noble  misery  of  the  spirit's  strife, 
The  joy  and  splendor  of  the  body's  li 

Lillie's  hand  pressed  her  lover's  with  involuntary  ten- 
derness, but  she  had  turned  her  face  away.  Presently 
she  murmured : 

"  But  think  what  you  are  asking  me  to  do  ?  How  can 
I,  the  President  of  the  Old  Maid's  Club,  be  the  first 
recreant  ? " 

"  But  you  are  also  the  last  to  leave  the  ship,"  he  re- 
plied, smiling.  "  Besides,  you  are  not  legally  elected. 
You  never  came  before  the  Honorary  Trier.  You  were 
never  a  member  at  all,  so  have  nothing  to  undo.  If  you 


326  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

had  stood  your  trial  fairly,  I  should  have  plucked  you,  my 
Lillie,  plucked  you  and  worn  you  nearest  my  heart.  It  is 
I  who  have  a  position  to  resign — the  Honorary  Trier- 
ship — and  I  resign  it  instanter.  A  nice  trying  time  I  have 
had,  to  be  sure  !  " 

"  Now,  now !  I  set  my  face  against  punning  !  "  said 
Lillie,  showing  it  now,  for  the  smiles  had  come  to  hide  the 
tears. 

"  Pardon,  Rainbow,"  he  answered. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  Rainbow  ?  " 

"  Because  you  look  it,"  he  said.  "  Because  ycur  face 
is  made  of  sunshine  and  tears.  Go  and  look  in  the  glass. 
Also  because — well,  wait  and  I  will  fashion  my  other 
reason  into  rhyme  and  send  it  you  on  our  wedding 
morn." 

"  Poetry  made  while  you  wait,"  said  Lillie,  laughing. 
The  laugh  froze  suddenly  on  her  lips,  and  a  look  of  horror 
overswept  her  face. 

"  What  is  it,  dearest  ?  "  cried  her  lover,  in  alarm. 

"  Wee  Winnie  !     How  can  we  face  Wee  Winnie  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  break  the  truth  to  her — we  can 
simply  get  rid  of  her  by  telling  her  she  has  never  been 
elected,  and  never  will  be." 

"Why,"  said  Lillie,  with  a  comic  moue,  "that  would  be 
harder  to  tell  her  than  the  truth.  But  we  must  first  of 
all  tell  father.  I  am  afraid  he  will  be  dreadfully  disap- 
pointed at  missing  that  inaugural  soiree  after  all.  You 
know  he  has  been  staying  in  town  expressly  for  it.  We 
have  some  bad  quarters  of  an  hour  before  us." 

They  sought  the  millionaire  in  his  sanctum  but  found 
him  not.  They  inquired  of  Turple  the  magnificent,  and 
learned  that  he  was  in  the  garden.  As  they  turned  away, 
the  lovers  both  simultaneously  remarked  something  pe- 
culiar about  the  face  of  Turple  the  magnificent.  Moved 
by  a  common  impulse,  they  turned  back  and  gazed  at  it. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  327 

For  some  seconds  they  could  not  at  all  grasp  the  change 
that  had  come  over  it — but  at  last,  and  almost  at  the  same 
instant,  they  realized  what  was  the  matter. 

Turph  the  magnificent  was  smiling. 

Filled  with  strange  apprehensions,  Silverdale  and  Lillie 
hurried  into  the  garden,  where  their  vague  alarm  was  ex- 
changed for  definite  consternation.  The  millionaire  was 
pacing  the  gravel-paths  in  the  society  of  a  strange  and 
beautiful  lady.  On  closer  inspection,  the  lady  turned 
out  to  be  only  too  familiar. 

"  Why  it's  Wee  Winnie  masquerading  as  a  woman  !  " 
exclaimed  Lord  Silverdale. 

And  so  it  proved — Nelly  Nimrod  in  all  the  flush  of  her 
womanly  beauty,  her  mannish  attire  discarded. 

"  Why,  what  is  this,  father  ?  "   murmured  Lillie. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  millionaire  solemnly.  "  As  you 
have  resolved  to  be  an  Old  Maid,  I — I — well  I  thought  it 
only  my  duty  to  marry.  Even  the  poorest  millionaire  can- 
not shirk  the  responsibilities  of  wealth.'' 

"  But  father  !  "  said  Lillie  in  dismay.  "  I  have  changed 
my  mind.  I  am  going  to  marry  Lord  Silverdale." 

"  Bless  ye,  my  children  !  "  said  the  millionaire.  "  You 
are  a  woman,  Lillie,  and  it  is  a  woman's  privilege  to  change 
her  mind.  But  I  am  a  man  and  have  no  such  privilege. 
I  must  marry  all  the  same." 

"  But  Miss  Nimrod  has  changed  her  mind,  too,"  said 
Lillie,  quite  losing  her  temper.  "  And  she  is  not  a  woman." 

'"  Gently,  gently,"  said  the  millionaire.  "  Respect  your 
stepmother  to  be,  if  you  have  no  respect  for  my  future 
wife." 

"  Lillie,"  said  Miss  Nimrod  appealingly,  "  do  not  mis- 
judge me.  I  have  not  changed  my  mind." 

"  But  you  said  you  could  never  marry,  on  the  ground 
that  while  you  would  only  marry  an  unconventional  man, 
an  unconventional  man  wouldn't  want  to  marry  you." 


328  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  Well  ?  Your  father  is  the  man  I  sought.  He  didn't 
want  to  marry  me,"  she  explained  frankly. 

"  Oh,"  said  Lillie,  taken  utterly  aback,  and  regarding 
her  father  commiseratingly. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  laughing  uneasily.  "  I  fell  in  love 
with  Wee  Winnie,  but  now  Nelly  says  she  wants  to  settle 
down." 

"  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me,  Lillie,"  added  Nelly, 
"  for  it  was  solely  in  the  interest  of  the  Old  Maid's  Club 
that  I  consented  to  marry  your  father.  He  was  always  a 
danger  to  the  Club  ;  at  any  moment  he  might  have  put 
forth  autocratic  authority  and  wound  it  up.  So  I  thought 
that  by  marrying  him  I  should  be  able  to  influence  him 
in  its  favor." 

"  No  doubt  you  will  make  him  see  the  desirability  of 
women  remaining  old  maids,"  retorted  Lillie  unappeased. 

"  Come,  come,  Lillie,  be  sensible  !  "  said  the  millionaire. 
"  Nelly  shall  give  Lillie  a  good  dinner  at  the  Junior  Widows, 
one  of  those  charming  dinners  you  and  I  have  had  there, 
and  Lillie  please  send  out  the  cards  for  the  inaugural 
soiree.  I  am  not  going  to  be  done  out  of  that  and  noth- 
ing can  now  be  gained  by  delay." 

"  But,  sir,  how  can  we  inaugurate  a  Club  which  has  never 
had  any  members  ?  "  asked  Silverdale. 

"  But  what  does  that  matter  ?  Aren't  there  plenty  of 
candidates  without  them  ?  Besides,  nobody'll  know.  Each 
of  the  candidates  will  think  the  others  are  the  members. 
Tell  you  what,  boy,  they  shall  all  dance  at  Lillie's  wedding, 
and  we'll  make  that  the  inaugural  soiree." 

"  But  that  would  be  to  publish  my  failure  to  the  world," 
remonstrated  Lillie. 

"  Nonsense,  dear.  It'll  be  published  without  that. 
Trust  the  Moon.  Isn't  it  better  to  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  perhaps  you're  right,"  said  Lillie  hesitating. 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  329 

"  But  I  hope  the  world  will  understand  that  it  is  only  des- 
peration at  the  collapse  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club  that  has 
driven  me  to  commit  matrimony." 

She  went  back  to  the  Club  to  write  out  the  cards. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  stepmother  ?  "  she  inquired 
pathetically  of  the  ex-Honorary  Trier. 

"  What  do  I  think  ?  "  said  Lord  Silverdale  seriously. 
"  I  think  she  is  the  punishment  of  Providence  for  vour 
interference  with  its  designs." 

****** 

The  explanatory  poem  duly  came  to  hand  on  Lillie's 
wedding  morn.  It  was  written  on  vellum  in  the  bride- 
groom's best  hand  and  ran — 

RAINBOW. 

Ah,  why  I  call  you  "  Rainbow,"  sweet  ? 

The  shadows  'fore  your  eyes  retreat, 

The  ground  grows  light  beneath  your  feet. 

You  smile  in  your  superior  way, 
A  Rainbow  has  no  feet,  you  say  ? 
Nay,  be  not  so  precise  to-day. 

Created  but  to  soothe  and  bless, 
You  followed  logic  to  excess, 
Repressing  thoughts  of  tenderness. 

My  life  was  chilled  and  wan  and  hoary, 
You  came,  the  Bow  of  ancient  story, 
To  kiss  the  grayness  into  glory. 

And  now,  as  Rainbow  fair  to  see, 
A  promise  sweet  you  are  to  me 
Of  sorrow  never  more  to  be. 

Besides  the  friends  of  the  happy  pair,  nearly  all  the 
candidates  were  present  at  the  inaugural  soiree  of  the 
Old  Maids'  Club.  Not  quite  all — because  Lillie  who  was 
rapidly  growing  conventional  did  not  care  to  have  Clorinda 
Bell  even  accompanied  by  her  mother,  or  by  her  brother, 


330  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

the  Man  in  the  Ironed  Mask.  Nor  did  she  invite  the  twins, 
nor  the  osculatory  Alice.  But  she  conquered  her  prejudices 
in  other  instances,  and  Frank  Maddox,  the  art  critic,  came 
under  the  convoy  of  the  composer,  Paul  Horace,  and  Miss 
Mary  Friscoe  was  brought  by  Bertie  Smythe.  The  Writers' 
Club  also  sent  Ellaline  Rand,  and  an  account  of  the  pro- 
ceedings appeared  in  the  first  number  of  the  Cherub.  The 
"  Princess  "  was  brought  by  Miss  Primpole,  and  Captain 
Athelstan  and  Lord  Arthur  came  together  in  unimpaired 
friendship.  Eustasia  Pallas  and  her  husband,  Percy  Swin- 
shell  Spatt,  both  their  faces  full  of  the  peace  that  passeth 
understanding,  got  a  night  off  for  the  occasion  and  came 
in  a  hansom  paid  for  out  of  the  week's  beer-money.  Turple 
the  magnificent,  who  had  seen  them  at  home  in  the 
servants'  hall,  was  outraged  in  his  deepest  instincts  and 
multiplied  occasions  for  offering  them  refreshments  merely 
for  the  pleasure  of  snorting  in  their  proximity.  The  great 
Fladpick  (Frank  Gray),  accompanied  by  his  newly-won 
bride,  Cecilia,  made  the  evening  memorable  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  English  Shakespeare,  Guy  Fledgely  brought 
Miss  Sybil  Hotspur,  and  his  father,  the  baronet,  was  under 
the  care  of  Miss  Jack.  The  lady  from  Boston  wired  con- 
gratulations on  the  success  of  the  Club  from  Yokohama 
whither  she  had  gone  to  pick  up  lacquer-work.  Poor  Miss 
Summerson,  the  lovely  May,  and  the  victim  of  the  Valen- 
tine were  a  triad  that  was  much  admired.  Miss  Fanny 
Radowski,  whose  Oriental  loveliness  excited  much  atten- 
tion, came,  with  Martin.  Winifred  Woodpecker  was  ac- 
companied by  her  mother,  the  resemblance  between  the 
two  being  generally  remarked,  and  Miss  Margaret  Lin- 
bridge  seemed  to  afford  Richard  Westbourne  copious  op- 
portunities for  jealousy.  Even  Wilkins  was  there  with  his 
Diana,  in  an  unprofessional  capacity,  Lillie  having  relented 
towards  her  interviewer  on  learning  that  she  had  beer, 
really  engaged  to  Silverplume  once  and  that  she  had  not 


THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB.  331 

entirely  drawn  on  the  stores  of  journalistic  fancy.  Silver- 
plume  himself  was  there,  unconscious  to  what  he  owed 
the  invitation,  and  paying  marked  attention  to  the  unat- 
tached beauties.  Miss  Nimrod  promenaded  the  rooms  on 
the  arm  of  the  millionaire.  She  had  improved  vastly  since 
she  had  become  effeminate,  and  Lillie  felt  she  could  put  up 
with  her,  now  she  would  not  have  to  live  with  her.  Even 
Silverdale's  aunt,  Lady  Goody-Goody  Twoshoes  could 
find  no  fault  with  Nelly  now. 

It  was  a  brilliant  scene.  The  apartments  of  the  Old 
Maids'  Club  had  been  artistically  decked  with  the  most 
gorgeous  flowers  that  the  millionaire  could  afford,  and  the 
epigrams  had  been  carefully  removed  so  as  to  leave  the 
rooms  free  for  dancing.  As  Lillie's  father  gazed  around, 
he  felt  that  not  many  millionaires  could  secure  such  a 
galaxy  of  beauty  as  circled  in  the  giddy  dance  in  his  gilded 
saloon.  It  was,  indeed,  an  unexampled  gathering  of 
pretty  girls — this  inaugural  soiree  of  the  Old  Maids'  Club, 
and  the  millionaire's  shirt-front  heaved  with  pride  and 
pleasure  and  the  Letter-Day  Cupid  that  still  hung  on  the 
wall  seemed  to  take  heart  of  grace  again. 

"  You  got  my  verses  this  morning,  Rainbow  mine  ? " 
said  Silverdale,  when  the  carriage  drove  off,  and  the  honey- 
moon began. 

It  was  almost  the  first  moment  they  had  had  together 
the  whole  day. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lillie  softly.  "  And  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
there  are  two  lines  which  are  truer  than  you  meant." 

"  I  am  indeed,  a  poet,  then  !     Which  are  they  ?  " 

Lillie  blushed  sweetly.     Presently  she  murmured, 
"  '  You  followed  logic  to  excess, 

Repressing  thoughts  of  tenderness.' 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ? "  she  asked,  her  brown  eyes 
looking  ingenuously  into  his. 
"  Love's  divination,  I  suppose." 


332  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB. 

"  My  father  didn't  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  ?  " 

"  About  my  discovery  in  the  algebra  of  love  ?  " 

"  Algebra  of  love  ? " 

"  No,  of  course  he  didn't.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever 
really  understood  it,"  said  Lillie  with  a  pathetic  smile. 
"  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  now  what  it  was  that  made 
me  so — so — you  understand." 

She  put  her  little  warm  hand  lightly  into  his  and  nes- 
tled against  his  shoulder,  as  if  to  make  amends. 

After  a  delicious  silence,  for  Lord  Silverdale  betrayed 
no  signs  of  impatience,  Lillie  confessed  all. 

"  So  you  see  I  have  loved  you  all  along ! "  she  con- 
cluded. "  Only  I  did  not  dare  hope  that  the  chance  would 
come  to  pass,  against  which  the  odds  were  5999." 

"  But  great  heavens  !  "  cried  Lord  Silverdale,  "  do  you 
mean  to  say  this  is  why  you  were  so  cold  to  me  all  those 
long  weary  months  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  only  reason,"  faltered  Lillie.  "  But  would 
you  have  had  me  defy  the  probabilities  ?  "• 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  I  wouldn't  dream  of  such  a 
thing.  But  you  have  miscalculated  them !  " 

"  Miscalculated  them  ?  " 

Lillie  began  to  tremble  violently. 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  fallacy  in  your  ratiocination." 

"  A  fallacy  !  "  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

"  Yes,  you  have  calculated  on  the  theory  that  the  prob- 
abilities are  independent,  whereas  they  are  interdepend- 
ent. In  the  algebra  of  love  this  is  the  typical  class  of  prob- 
abilities. The  two  events — your  falling  in  love  with  me, 
my  falling  in  love  with  you — are  related  ;  they  are  not 
absolutely  isolated  phenomena  as  you  have  superficially 
assumed.  It  is  our  common  qualities  which  make  us 
gravitate  together,  and  what  makes  me  love  you  is  the 
same  thing  that  makes  you  love  me.  Thus  the  odds 


THE  OLD  MAIDS1  CLUB.  333 

against  our  loving  each  other  are  immensely  less  than  you 
have  ciphered  out." 

Lillie  had  fallen  back,  huddled  up,  in  her  corner  of  the 
carriage,  her  face  covered  with  her  hands. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Lord  Silverdale  penitently.  "  I 
had  no  right  to  correct  your  mathematics  on  your  wed- 
ding-day. Say  two  and  two  are  six  and  I  will  make  it  so." 

"  Two  and  two  are  not  six  and  you  know  it,"  said  Lillie 
firmly,  raising  her  wet  face.  "  It  is  I  who  have  to  ask  for- 
giveness for  being  so  cruel  to  you.  But  if  I  have  sinned, 
I  have  sinned  in  ignorance.  You  will  believe  that, 
dearest  ? " 

"  I  believe  anything  that  comes  from  my  Rainbow's 
lips,"  said  Lord  Silverdale.  "  Why,  they  are  quite  white  ! 
Let  me  kiss  them  rosy  again." 

Like  a  naughty  child  that  has  been  chastened  by  afflic- 
tion she  held  up  her  face  obediently  to  meet  his.  The 
lips  were  already  blushing. 

"  But  confess, "  she  said,  while  an  arch  indefinable 
light  came  into  the  brown  eyes,  "  confess  we  have  had 
a  most  original  courtship." 


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